







Class 

Bof ft Am 7 

GopyrigiitlSl? L; 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


I 


\ 




























































V 

































/ 






































» 
























































































MARIAN FREAR’S SUMMER 




THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 


MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



. • 











“ The new people,” 


she whispered 


MARIAN FREAR’S 
SUMMER 


BY 

MARGARET ASHMUN 

Author of “Isabel Carleton’s Year,” “Isabel Carleton’s 
Friends,” “Stephen’s Last Chance,” etc. 


ji2eto gotfe 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1920 


AU rights reserved 



Copyright, 1920, 

By MARGARET ASHMUN 


Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1920. 


©C1A571393 


JUN 23 1320 


✓v^O I 


TO 

DOROTHY S. CURNOW 

AN ENGLISH WOMAN WHO 
LOVES AMERICA 





























/ 





























> 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Laughter i 

II The Spaldings 

III Pigeon’s Nest 26 

IV A Captive Freed 45 

V The Downpour 60 

VI The Unseen Hand 78 

VII Under the Pine Trees 103 

VIII A Qestion of Clothes 119 

IX The Luster Pitcher 143 

X The Dove-Cote Ruffled 164 

XI Hopes and Plans 182 

XII The Emancipation of Agnes .... 203 
XIII A Surprise Party 228 





















MARIAN FREAR’S 
SUMMER 


CHAPTER I 

LAUGHTER 

TX/T ARIAN FREAR was on her knees, thinning out 
the young carrots from the long rows next 
to the fence. Her slender brown hands were busy 
among the leaves, and the small green and yellow 
heap beside her was swiftly increasing. 

“ Almost finished,” the girl said, half aloud, as 
she glanced toward the end of the row on which she 
was working. She stopped and straightened her 
shoulders, and pushed back the old straw hat which 
she wore. Her gaze wandered beyond the pasture 
to the quick blue sparkle of the lake, where it showed 
through the poplars and cherry trees. Her eyes 
were wistful and intent. She had a finely outlined 
mouth and chin, and soft hair, almost black, which 
was drawn severely away from her face, and braided 
into a hard flat oval at her neck. Just now her 
expression was far from happy. 

It was late in the afternoon of a day in July. 
The wind was pleasantly cool, but the sun felt hot 
on Marian’s shoulders, through the blue print dress. 


2 


Marian F rear’s Summer 


The girl had just gone buck to her nearly completed 
task, when the voice of a woman called to her across 
the currant bushes, “You’d better stop, Merry, 
dear. There’s no use in working too hard. You 
can finish to-morrow.” 

“ There’s only a tiny bit more to do,” Marian 
responded. “ I might as well get it done.” Her 
hands flew more rapidly among the feathery leaves. 

“ Oh, well — ” The voice of the woman trailed 
off, as if she were bending among the bushes. 

Presently the girl’s task was ended. She stood 
up, wincing as the tired muscles adjusted themselves. 
She was not tall, but her form had the freedom 
which an out-door life bestows. Her dress was 
soiled about the hem with the damp earth in which 
she had been kneeling; her fingers were smeared 
with grime and leaf-stain. 

Mrs. Frear, a dark-eyed, fresh-cheeked woman, 
erect and slender, came toward her, stepping care- 
fully among the rows of vegetables. She was carry- 
ing a large white bowl of red currants, glowing 
jewel-like in the sun. “ You never stop till you get 
to the end of a piece of work,” said the mother in 
her gracious voice, which after years in the North 
still carried a hint of Southern accent. 

“ No,” answered Marian, smiling wearily. 
“And who is just like me, in that respect?” 

“ Nobody that I know.” Mrs. Frear spoke in- 
nocently, ignoring the imputation. “ It’s my turn 
to get supper. I’ll take some of the carrots; they’re 
so tender, they’ll cook in a few minutes. It won’t 
do to waste them.” She lifted a bunch of the young 
carrots and long fronds, and turned toward the 


Laughter 3 

house, holding the bowl of currants against her side 
to steady it. 

“Poor mother ! ” Marian breathed as she 
watched the older woman in her odd old-fashioned 
sacque and shapeless faded sun-bonnet. 

“ Coming? ” The sun-bonnet turned, and the 
eyes beneath it questioned the girl still standing 
among the garden-rows. 

“ In a minute.’* 

Marian threw herself down on the turf under a 
maple tree beside the fence. The misery and re- 
bellion which she had been crushing in her heart 
all day now forced themselves to the surface. 
Tears sprang to her eyes, but she forced them back. 
“ I can’t stand it,” she murmured, and bowed her 
head upon her knees; but she raised it again in a 
moment, lest her mother should look out of the 
window in the kitchen. Through a blur of tears, 
the girl studied the gray little house, with its shabby 
unpainted “ upright and lean-to,” softened at the 
back by hop-vines and morning-glories. Her eyes 
rested on the meager out-buildings, devoid of paint; 
and then swept the circle of the landscape. “ Not 
another house in sight ! ” she cried, as if repeating 
an old grievance. All around were woodland and 
pasture, broken by hillside fields, where the grain 
stood ready for the reaping. Behind the garden 
and across the meadow was the lake, where now 
shadows were dimming the gleam which all day had 
lured from among the trees. The loneliness of the 
situation was complete. 

Marian clenched her hands as she sat there in 
the grass. “ I won’t cry,” she was saying to herself. 


Marian Frear’s Summer 


4 

Her mother could not bear to see the marks of tears, 
and besides, Marian had learned the uselessness of 
crying. “ It’s so dreadfully shut in,” she told her- 
self. “ Other girls — ” But Marian knew the use- 
lessness of thinking about other girls. She sat 
brooding, her head against her hand. A cat-bird in 
the maple assailed her with shrill noises of vexation. 
A row of white ducks came waddling up from the 
lake, quacking contentedly to one another after a day 
of sunshine and fat slugs. Young turkeys engaged 
in plaintive chat, considering where to sleep. 
Marian usually loved this hour of the day at the 
isolated little homestead; but just now her mind was 
full of its loneliness and stagnation. 

Many minutes passed. Then Mrs. Frear’s voice 
sounded from the other side of the house, — 
“Merry! Mar-i-an!” 

“ Yes, mother. I’m coming.” 

The girl rose and took up the carrots which lay 
drying in the furrow. She went through the little 
gate into the yard, where plantains and white- 
flowered may-weed rose thickly under her feet. On 
the clothes-reel a blue print dress was hanging : when 
one has few clothes, one washes often. 

When Marian came to the stone step at the door 
of the lean-to kitchen, she had regained her self- 
control. She suppressed a catch in her voice as she 
called, “Come, Tootie! Come, puss! puss!” A 
black-and-white cat with a pink nose came to the 
screen door and looked out. “ Nice Rosy-Nosey! ” 
Marian went in and took the cat into her arms, 
caressing it while it rubbed against her cheek. 

“ I couldn’t imagine where you’d gone,” Mrs. 


5 


Laughter 

Frear said, stepping quickly about in her prepara- 
tions for supper. She gave a keen glance at her 
daughter, and then went on with her work. 

“ I was tired. I thought I’d sit a few minutes.” 
Marian put down the cat and went to the sink to 
scrub the grime from her hands. 

On the stove-hearth stood two blue plates holding 
delicate brown slices of toast. After a hasty look 
into the oven, Mrs. Frear took up a saucepan, and 
heaped upon the toast some generous spoonfuls of 
creamed carrot. 

“ There’s hot corn bread,” she remarked as she 
put down the saucepan. 

“Ah, that’s good!” Marian tried to look ex- 
cited and pleased, but succeeded only languidly. She 
took up the plates, while Mrs. Frear followed with 
the tea. They both went into the sitting-room at 
the front of the house. It was a cheerful room, in 
spite of the poor patched carpet and discolored wall- 
paper. Perfect order prevailed. There were crisp 
white curtains of muslin at the windows, and glint- 
ing mirrors on the walls. A handsome old ma- 
hogany table with carved feet was set out with a 
bit of white linen and blue Canton ware. 

“ You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten,” said Mrs. 
Frear, arranging the dishes. Without answering, 
Marian went to get the corn bread. 

The two women sat down and ate almost silently, 
both attempting to conceal their thoughts. At last 
the tension broke. “ Don’t feel so badly, Merry,” 
cried Mrs. Frear in a tone of distress. 

“ Merry! It’s a queer name,” answered the girl, 
choking. 


6 


Marian F rear’s Summer 


“ But you are, sometimes — most of the time.” 
The mother tried to smile. 

“ I could be all the time, if — if things were differ- 
ent. I suppose I ought to be, anyway,” Marian 
added with self-reproach. 

“Things will be different — surely they will.” 
But there was doubt in the older woman’s face. 

“ I don’t see how.” Marian stared with tired 
eyes at her heavy silver fork. “ What made father 
leave us here like this? ” She took up the fork, and 
then laid it down again. 

“ You know. He thought it would be nice for us 
to come here in the summer, away from everybody.” 
Mrs. Frear paused. “ And then when he was gone 

— when he died — our money was all gone, too, and 
this was the only place to come to. Marian, you 
know all this.” 

“ Yes, I do. I’m sorry I spoke as I did, mother.” 
Marian looked ashamed. “ But it is too bad that 
the place is so shut in.” 

“ That was why he — your father — liked it,” 
Mrs. Frear returned. “ He’d been worried and 
busy, and he thought we could be so happy, we three, 
together, for a little while. He didn’t know he was 

— going.” 

Marian felt the restrained tremor in her mother’s 
voice. She smiled across the table in an effort to 
regain the cheerfulness which usually reigned at 
their meals. “ And we have been happy here — we 
two — all the time, haven’t we?” she said. She 
did not remember her father, except as a vague 
figure with a dark mustache and kind strong hands. 

“ Indeed we have,” Mrs. Frear responded grate- 


Laughter 7 

fully; “ in spite of everything — the hard work, and 
not having money enough, and the loneliness, and 
all” 

“ And we’re going to keep on.” The girl strove 
to speak with hearty assurance. 

There was silence again. Then Mrs. Frear 
leaned back in her chair, saying nervously, “ You 
know, I’ve often told you that if you want to try 
going out — away — and doing something ” — the 
sweet voice faltered — “ I wouldn’t put a straw in 
your way.” 

“ Mother ! ” Marian flashed back, “ as if I’d leave 
you ! ” 

“ I could get on.” 

“ Alone — all winter, without even a neighbor’s 
chimney to look at? Darling lady, we needn’t 
talk about it.” Marian’s eyes showed affectionate 
rebuke. 

“But—” 

“ I couldn’t. And besides,” the girl went on 
with assumed lightness, “ what could I do? I’ve got 
to learn something first. There isn’t anything that 
I’d be good for.” 

“ You’re a very useful young lady, to me.” 

“ I’m afraid I shouldn’t be to any one else. The 
worst is,” Marian cried, frowning, “ I’m so awfully 
frightened of people. I’d be afraid to meet any 
strangers, or to try to do anything.” She sat 
crumbling bits of bread in her unsteady fingers. 
Then she roused herself. “ It’s a shame to talk 
about things like this at the table. Have you 
finished, mother? I’ll get the dessert.” 

Marian went around the table, and kissed her 


8 


Marian F rear's Summer 


mother on the cheek. With deft hands she changed 
the plates, and brought on glass dishes of freshly 
washed red currants on the stem, and smaller dishes 
filled with sugar. There was a plate of white cake 
on the table. 

The woman and the young girl sat dipping the 
clusters of currants into the sugar, and enjoying their 
leisure, after a busy day. There was no more refer- 
ence to the subjects which they had just discussed. 
Marian was sorry for having brought them up, and 
Mrs. Frear was glad to let them drop. 

After supper, while her mother was washing the 
few dishes, Marian went out to see that the young 
chickens and turkeys were safely put to bed. She 
felt refreshed, and less miserable than she had felt 
somewhat earlier, but her problem was still aching 
in her mind. 

She let down the bars, and walked through the 
meadow to the lake. Tall grasses and “ black- 
eyed Susans ” brushed against her skirts beside the 
narrow path. Here and there she tiptoed along 
planks set into the oozy soil. Red bird-cherries and 
dark purple June-berries hung from the trees that 
fringed the water. Marian pushed through the 
branches and came out upon the shore. She stood 
still, sighing with joy. The irregular expanse of 
the lake, with its setting of green oak and pine, was 
the picture of quiet. Under the branches of a bass- 
wood tree, an old unpainted boat rocked slightly in 
the waves which lapped against the pebbles. Lean- 
ing upon the bole of the tree, the girl gave herself 
up to the spell of the scene and the hour. 

All at once she started and looked keenly out into 


9 


Laughter 

the shadowy spaces of the lake. “ What was 
that?” she asked herself, aloud. Did she hear 
voices, young voices, like those of boys and girls, — 
a laugh, a bit of song? “ No, of course not,” she 
added. “ It couldn’t be. There’s no one around 
here.” 

There was only one building on the lake, and that 
was fully a half-mile away, hidden by the curving 
bank. It was a house which had stood unoccupied 
for a number of years. An elderly man had built it 
as a summer home for his wife and himself, but some- 
thing had happened, and they had never come back. 

“I wonder?” Marian listened for the voices. 
The dusk had settled over the western bank of the 
lake, where the sky was turning to pale bluish green. 
“ It must have been a loon,” the girl whispered. 
She had a sense of awe of the big birds that bobbed 
up so startlingly out of the water, and then disap- 
peared with mocking shrieks of laughter. 

But no ! There it was again — a girl’s laugh, not 
a bird’s. Very faintly it rippled along the air, and 
died out in the lapping of the waves. Marian 
caught her breath. A long time she stood in the 
twilight, waiting to hear the laugh again; but it did 
not come. “ But I’m sure I heard it, anyway,” she 
murmured, and was consoled. 

When she turned away, she walked with a freer 
step, and the last weariness of the day had vanished. 
From the edge of the pasture, she saw that her 
mother had lighted a lamp in the little house. As 
she hurried toward the yellow square of the window, 
there was an eager questioning in her heart. She 
longed to know whose laughter had come so faintly 


io Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

yet so certainly to her ears. At the same time, she 
felt a burst of hope and courage. She was less a 
prisoner than before. As she ran through the 
white may-weed, under the first stars, she sang exult- 
antly to herself, “ There must be, must be some way 
out! ” 


CHAPTER II 

THE SPALDINGS 

r I A HE next forenoon, Marian was in the kitchen, 
-*■ washing and sorting eggs, and packing them 
into a crate. Her mind was as busy as her hands. 
She was thinking about the incident of the evening 
before, and the elusive sound of laughter upon the 
lake. “ I know I wasn’t mistaken,” she said to her- 
self. 

Just then there was a loud knock at the door. 
Marian ran to unlatch the screen, calling good-day 
to the man who stood outside. He was an odd- 
looking old soul, short and stubby, with a red face, 
and reddish gray whiskers. His rough clothes and 
the short pipe held in his teeth made him appear al- 
most like a tramp; but he was in fact a prosperous 
farmer who lived a mile or so away, on the main 
road. He had been a good friend to the dwellers 
in the house beside the lake. 

“ Good day, little girl,” he said gravely, stepping 
across the threshold. He had an air of solemnity, 
above a gay and kindly heart. “ You must think 
I’m a sort of a fly, that you lock me out like this.” 

“ You’re more of a busy bee than a fly, Mr. 
Grant,” said Marian, with a touch of shyness, 
though she had known the man since she was a child. 

“ I’ll be bound, you’re glad the flies don’t go 
around smoking an evil-smelling pipe.” Mr. Grant 

ii 


12 Marian F rear’s Summer 

took the pipe out of his mouth and regarded it rue- 
fully. “ If they did, you’d shut ’em out tighter than 
ever.” He began smoking again, with a quizzical 
smile. 

“ It’s all right, Mr. Grant. You know we don’t 
mind,” Marian replied. “Won’t you sit down? 
The eggs will be ready in just a second.” The smell 
of the pipe was an alien odor in that sweet and clean 
kitchen. 

“Where’s your mother?” The old man sat 
down in an ancient but solid chair with dull painted 
flowers along its back. 

“ Out picking currants. That currant conserve 
sold so well last year that she wants to put up more, 
this summer.” Marian was quickly packing the last 
of the eggs, and fitting a cover on the crate. 
“ Here’s the list of things we want — sugar, coffee, 
canned salmon, and, oh, yes, — I forgot to put down 
the baking powder.” Mr. Grant took a pencil from 
his pocket, and she scribbled the last items on the 
list. 

“ Eggs have gone up three cents.” The old man 
puffed at his pipe as he spoke. He had driven in 
from the main road to carry to town anything which 
the Frears wished to send, and to get the list of 
what he was to bring back for them. They had no 
horse, and could reach the village, four miles away, 
only by walking or by waiting at the roadside and 
“ catching a chance.” Once in a month or so, Mr. 
Grant made a trip to the larger town of Willford, 
nine miles distant, and he never failed to transact 
what business he could for the Frears, or to ask them 
to go along. 


13 


The Spaldings 

“ It’s awfully kind of you,” Marian said, as she 
always did, trying to express her gratitude to this 
man who had enabled her mother to make a living 
by selling the products of the little plot of ground. 

u No bother, no bother.” Mr. Grant rose to 
g°- 

“ I know it is, but we couldn’t get on without it,” 
the girl responded. “ The next time, mother wants 
to talk to you about the wood. She thinks she’d 
better order another cord.” 

“ All right. I’ll see about it.” Grant lifted the 
crate of eggs, and carried it out to his wagon, while 
Marian followed with a large basket filled with 
young carrots, onions, peas, and early corn. Toro, 
Mr. Grant’s dog, was sniffing and growling around 
the woodpile where Rosy-Nosey had taken refuge, in 
a state of great disdain. When the things had been 
stowed away in the back of the light wagon, and 
the old man had climbed in and taken up the reins, 
he stopped and looked down at the girl with the air 
of having forgotten something important. “ You’ll 
be having neighbors now,” he remarked. 

“ Oh! Who?” Marian was tense with eager- 
ness. 

“ Why, they do say some one’s come to stay at the 
Craik place.” 

Marian flushed. “ I thought there might be 
some one there,” she answered. “ Who are they, 
do you know? ” 

“ Some city folks, I hear. Two or three young 
folks among ’em. I don’t suppose they’ll be staying 
long — too dull, probably.” 

It seemed as if Marian could not let him go. 


14 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

“ You don’t know their names, or anything about 
them? ” she inquired wistfully. 

“ No, not a thing. Carl Erickson told me they’d 
hired him to haul their stuff from the dee-po at Will- 
ford. He was in a hurry, and I didn’t get a chance 
to ask him much. Here, Toro, here! Leave that 
cat alone.” 

After Mr. Grant had driven out through the lane, 
Marian turned back into the house, and cleared away 
the vestiges of her work with the eggs. She was 
all wonder and excitement. 

So there were people at the Craik place! Young 
people! She had heard their voices. She stood 
still, with clasped hands, realizing what the news 
might mean to her. Could she ever get acquainted 
with them? Or would they keep to themselves? 
They were city folks. She looked down at her print 
dress and heavy shoes. Why should they want any- 
thing to do with her? she asked herself, between 
humility and longing. But if, by some miracle, they 
should, how beautiful it would be! With timid 
ecstasy she stood dreaming beside the kitchen table. 

It was nearing noon, and presently her mother 
came in with a pail of currants. “ Well,” she said 
pleasantly, “ Mr. Grant was here, wasn’t he? I 
didn’t notice until I saw him driving away. I can 
smell his pipe yet.” 

“ Yes.” Marian, in an absent way, began getting 
out the dishes for lunch. “ Eggs have gone up three 
cents. I told him about the wood. But, oh, mother, 
what — what do you think has happened? ” 

“ I can’t imagine.” Mrs. Frear was emptying 


The Spaldings 15 

the currants into a gray earthen crock. Rather 
startled, she looked over her shoulder to discern the 
cause of the excitement in Marian’s voice. 

u Mr. Grant says there’s a family staying at the 
Craik place.” The girl paused with a blue cup in 
each hand. 

“ Well, that is good news ! ” Mrs. Frear finished 
emptying the currants. “ It will be splendid to know 
that the house isn’t shut up any more.” 

“ Yes, won’t it? The windows always looked so 
gloomy when we rowed past.” 

“ Who are the people? Did he say? ” 

“ He doesn’t know, except that they’re ‘ some city 
folks.’ Carl Erickson hauled their goods from 
Willford.” Marian was mechanically going on with 
the preparations for lunch. 

Mrs. Frear began washing some lettuce which she 
had brought in. “ I dare say we sha’n’t see much of 
them,” she said thoughtfully. 

“ N-no,” Marian responded from the cupboard, 
where she was reaching for the glasses. “ But I’d 
hoped — ” 

“ I shouldn’t count too much on it, Merry, dear.” 
Mrs. Frear’s voice was very even. “ It’s away 
down the lake, and they may be wrapped up in their 
own affairs. But of course — we don’t know — ” 
The mother spoke with the evident intention of 
guarding her daughter against disappointment. 
“ We’ll just have to let things take their course.” 

“ Yes, I know. And I suppose I should be scared 
to death of them if they did pay any attention to us.” 
Marian was subdued, remembering her own great 


16 Marian Frea/s Summer 

fault of shyness. “ But you’re good enough to asso- 
ciate with any one, mother.” She raised her voice 
above the splash of water in the sink. 

“ We’re both good enough,” said the older 
woman calmly. “ I was only saying that we might 
not see them at all. Wouldn’t you like my old- 
fashioned hot dressing on the lettuce to-day? ” 

“ Yes. That would be a change.” Marian fell 
silent. Of course, the newcomers might not care 
to concern themselves with outsiders. But at any 
rate, she could row past the house and see them, and 
they would be out on the lake in a boat. They 
would have interesting clothes, and “ different ” 
ways, and bring in a glimpse of the real world. 
That was something not to be despised. 

Marian was sixteen. It was two years since she 
had stopped going to the district school, a mile and 
a half away across the fields. The teachers were 
mostly Danish girls who had had a little training at a 
county school but whose speech and manners were 
scarcely better than those of their pupils, — children 
of Danish farmers and dairymen. In her last years 
at school, Marian had felt out of place among the 
boys and girls; and the teachers had either told her 
frankly that they had no more to give her, or they 
had been irritated by her “ finicky ” ways of speak- 
ing and acting. Now the problem of her education 
had become acute. Was she to stay here always, 
without any opportunity for learning? There 
seemed to be no way of getting out, to a place where 
the right kind of schooling would be at hand. 

After lunch, when the dishes had been put away, 
Mrs. Frear took a duster and went to give an extra 


The Spaldings 


17 

glow of perfection to the neatness of the living-room. 
She was wiping an invisible speck from an old silver- 
luster pitcher on the mantel, when Marian said from 
the kitchen door, “ That’s absolutely clean, mother. 
What’s the use of doing things so perfectly? 
There’s no one to see it.” Despondency was still 
heavy at her heart. 

Mrs. Frear turned with the cloth in her hand. 
“ Why, you see it. I see it. Aren’t we any one? ” 

“ I suppose so. But we might stand things if 
they weren’t done so carefully.” 

“ We shouldn’t be satisfied. I can’t bear to see 
a house kept badly. Things must be right , you 
know, dear.” 

“ I didn’t exactly mean that they should be kept 
badly.” Marian was taking off her kitchen apron. 
“You love to fuss over them, don’t you? How 
you’d love a big beautiful house to keep, mother! ” 

Mrs. Frear moved a candlestick on the shelf. 
“ Yes, I would,” she sighed, — “ the kind I grew up 
in, with plenty of space, and lovely old furniture, 
and quantities of china and linen.” She paused for 
a moment. “ But the best I can do is to keep this 
little place just as perfectly as if it were larger and 
more beautiful.” 

“ Sometime we’ll have the kind you want,” 
Marian predicted. “ We live on sometime’s, don’t 
we?” 

“ They’re wholesome things.” Mrs. Frear went 
on with her dusting, but her brown eyes were sad as 
they followed Marian’s movements in the kitchen. 

That afternoon something unusual happened. 
Marian had finished a particular task of weeding, 


1 8 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

and before beginning another, she stole down to the 
lake, as she sometimes did in the intervals of work. 
As she neared the fringe of trees about the shore, 
she heard voices not very far away. “ The new 
people ! ” she whispered, uncertain whether to turn 
around or to go on. Curiosity which she could not 
resist drew her to the bass-wood tree beside the nar- 
row landing-place. Pulling back the branches, she 
peeped out. At no great distance was a row-boat, 
smartly painted in white and blue, bearing the name 
Paloma along the bow. In the boat were a young 
man of about eighteen, and a girl somewhat younger, 
perhaps fifteen. The boy sat in the stern, with a 
fishpole, and was baiting his hook. The girl sat on 
the middle seat holding the boat in place by unskilled 
motions of the oars. 

“ This ought to be a good place for perch,” the 
youth was saying. “ I shan’t dare to go home with- 
out any, after the way I boasted to Aunt Elsie.” 

The girl was looking down into the water. “ Oh, 
there are some big ones!” she cried. “Look! 
they’re just scudding past, like shadows.” 

Marian longed to call out that those “ big ones ” 
were only red-horse, not fit for eating; and that the 
place for perch was at the west side of the lake, 
where a stream flowed in, beside the tamarack 
swamp. But she did not dare to let herself be 
known. 

She stood absorbed, staring at the pair in the boat. 
The boy was in corduroy trousers and a much-worn 
white silk shirt, open at the neck. The girl wore a 
short skirt and a middy-blouse, with a great red silk 
scarf knotted below the collar. She had dark curl- 


The Spaldings 19 

ing hair and a somber face. Her voice was fresh 
and distinctive, with a sort of easy drawl. 

“ I’ll tell you what,” she began, “ if you’re going 
to fish here, you can put me ashore, and I’ll go up to 
that house that we can see the chimney of. Aunt 
Elsie said she relied on me to scare up something for 
supper. Maybe we can buy something there.” 

The boy was watching his “ bob,” and did not 
move or answer. Instead, he began to hum a bar of 
a lively song . 

“ Listen, Harvey,” cried the girl impatiently. “ I 
know you heard what I said. I want to go ashore.” 

“ All right, Ag,” replied the boy lazily. “ But 
aren’t you afraid that the bogies’ll get you? ” 

“ Harvey Spalding, don’t call me Ag,” the girl 
burst out. “ It’s horrible. Agnes is bad enough, 
but Ag — / ” She paused eloquently, her face 
flushed with injured dignity. “ I’ve told you a dozen 
times how I feel about it.” 

The boy laughed, throwing his light hair back 
from his forehead. “ Just as you like, Sister. 
Agnes it is. But are you sure you want to wander 
on an unknown shore? ” 

“ I’m not afraid,” was the response. “ That Carl 
Erickson said that there were only two women living 
there.” 

The boy jerked at his line. “ They might have a 
dog,” he said tantalizingly, — u a huge dog, with a 
large red mouth and long teeth, — the kind of dog 
that comes bounding out at you, barking and growl- 
ing like mad,- — ” 

“ I’m not afraid of dogs, Harve,” said Agnes. 

“Don’t call me Harve!” The boy shook his 


20 Marian F rear’s Summer 

shoulders, giving an exaggerated imitation of his 
sister’s voice and manner, so apt that Agnes laughed 
in spite of herself. Marian smiled too, detecting the 
friendly companionship under the bantering words. 

“ Well, Harvey f then. Come on, now. I’m 
going to row ashore.” 

“ Oh, wait! wait just a minute. I thought I had 
a bite,” the boy protested. Then with an entire 
change to seriousness he said, looking over at his 
sister, “ Don’t you honestly want me to go with you, 
Agnes? I’d just as lief, you know.” 

“ No, of course not,” Agnes answered in the 
same earnest tone. “ I’d rather go alone. You 
can stay here and fish from the end of the boat while 
I’m gone.” 

Marian had been so fascinated by the strangers 
and their lively conversation that she had forgotten 
that she was eavesdropping. Now she wakened to 
that fact, and to the realization that she must take 
refuge in flight or meet these young people face to 
face on the shore. A great wave of shyness swept 
over her. She could not meet them, in spite of their 
free and friendly looks. 

“ I’ll have to run for the house,” she murmured. 
Swiftly she sped through the bushes, and up the nar- 
row path, treading on ferns and purple iris, and 
bending black-eyed Susans in the grass. She ran 
reluctantly, for all her haste. She longed to keep 
on looking at the blue and white Paloma (what did 
the name mean?), and study the two invaders from 
the outer world. 

She heard the creak of oars as the boat moved 
toward the landing-beach. In another minute she 


The Spaldings 


21 


had reached the house, and was fumbling at the knob 
of the screen door. She found her mother at the 
kneading-board in the kitchen, beside the widow 
where the grapevine swung. “ Mother,” she said 
breathlessly, “ those people from the Craik place — 
they’re down at the landing, and they’re coming up 
here. One of them is, anyway — a girl.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it.” Mrs. Frear was shaping 
a roll, with delicate touch. “ Did you talk with 
them, Marian? ” 

“ No. I just looked through the branches of the 
bass-wood tree. There they were, out in a boat, and 
I heard what they were saying. I couldn’t help it, 
mother. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But she’s 
coming up, right away. I think she wants to buy 
something out of the garden, or maybe eggs, or 
milk.” 

“ I hope so,” Mrs. Frear replied. “ It would be 
a great help to us if they were to buy regularly while 
they’re here.” She stood thoughtfully, holding the 
last bit of dough in her fingers. 

“ Mother,” said Marian desperately, “ I can’t 
meet that girl. I’m so afraid of her. She’s so — I 
don’t know how to say it. I’m going into the winter 
kitchen.” 

“ Oh, Merry, dear,” cried Mrs. Frear appeal- 
ingly, “ don’t do that. She’s nothing but a young 
girl like yourself. You might find it very pleasant 
to know her.” 

“ I can’t.” The stubborn words were softened 
by the look of shyness and humiliation on Marian’s 
face. 

Mrs. Frear sighed. “Just as you like, child,” 


22 Marian Frear s Summer 

she answered. “ But I wish you’d be more sensible.” 

“ Maybe I shall, sometime.” 

A step had sounded on the boards that led up 
to the stone door-step. Marian ran into the living- 
room, and shut herself into the small room at the 
end of the upright, which was used for a kitchen in 
the coldest weather. Just now it was a store-room 
for egg crates, berry boxes, fruit cans, and unused 
utensils. The hinge had sprung a trifle, so that the 
door did not close tightly; Marian hesitated to push 
it hard, lest it should creak. She stood in the middle 
of the floor, heartily ashamed of her foolishness, 
and yet powerless to act in any other way. 

She heard a knock at the kitchen screen, and her 
mother’s gracious voice saying, “ Good afternoon.” 

Then came the high fresh voice of the girl : “ We 

heard that we might be able to get some eggs and 
vegetables here. Could you sell us some? My 
family are staying further down the lake, at what’s 
called the Craik place.” 

Marian envied the direct fearless manner of this 
girl, younger than herself, yet used to going about 
and being among people. 

“ Why, yes, I think we can let you have some- 
thing,” said Mrs. Frear easily. “ Come right in.” 

The screen door squeaked as the girl entered the 
kitchen. Marian heard the placing of a chair, and 
the words — “ two dozen eggs, please — oh, what 
a dear pussy! ” She heard a scramble for the cat 
and “ What’s its name? ” 

“ Rosy-Nosey — otherwise Tootie,” said Mrs. 
Frear. “ We’re very fond of her. She won’t hurt 
you.” 


The Spaldings 23 

Marian perceived that the girl had taken Tootie 
into her arms, and was murmuring to the puss. 
“ I’m glad she likes cats,” thought the fugitive in the 
store room. u She must be all right if she does.” 
Marian caught a few words here and there, — “ let- 
tuce, and young onions, and — ” 

u I’m afraid we can let you have only a dozen 
eggs,” Mrs. Frear was saying. “ We sent all we 
had to the store, and kept these for ourselves.” 

“ Oh, can you spare them? ” the stranger asked 
quickly. 

“ Yes, of course.” 

“ We’ll get more next time.” 

Next time! “I’m in for it,” thought Marian. 
“ How silly it was of me to run away like this ! ” 

“ I have only currants picked. Will they do? ” 
Mrs. Frear asked. 

“ Yes, I think so. Oh, let me taste them. Good- 
ness! but they’re sour, aren’t they?” The girl’s 
voice carried clearly through the sitting-room and 
into Marian’s retreat. 

“ Won’t you come out to the garden while I get 
the lettuce and other things?” said Mrs. Frear, 
“ Wait till I put on my sunbonnet.” 

“ That awful thing! ” Marian groaned inwardly, 
remembering the grotesque appearance of the limp 
and faded bonnet. 

“ And you might tell your mother — ” Mrs. Frear 
continued, as she and the girl stood at the kitchen 
door. 

“ It’s my aunt,” answered Agnes Spalding hastily. 
“ My mother isn’t — living.” Her voice softened 
as she spoke. 


24 Marian Frear’s Summer 

“ Oh, I’m so sorry.” There was a pause. 
“ Well, tell your aunt that I can send over three 
quarts of raspberries to-morrow morning, and any- 
thing else — The door squeaked as the two went 
out toward the garden. 

Marian opened the door of her cell and stepped 
into the living-room. The old gilt-framed mirror 
on the opposite wall showed her cheeks crimson with 
vexation and shame. Her flight from the strangers 
was of no avail. She was to be “ sent ” over to 
them with three quarts of raspberries, a kind of de- 
livery-girl to these rich campers. “ I ought to be 
glad to help mother in that way,” she said, her lip 
trembling, “ and yet it does seem hard — when I’m 
so frightened of everybody, too ! ” 

She busied herself with the mixing-board, and set 
the rolls to rise. She felt that she ought to go and 
assist with what was going on in the garden, but she 
could not bring herself to burst in now, when she had 
deliberately hidden from the newcomer. A few 
tears dropped down on her blue dress. 

It seemed a long time until Mrs. Frear came back 
into the kitchen. She laid some money on the 
table, and began to wash her hands. Her sunbonnet 
was pushed back, disclosing her fresh red cheeks, 
and calm firm chin. She took no notice of Marian’s 
downcast look. 

“ She’s a nice simple girl,” Mrs. Frear remarked. 
“ She has a sister and a brother older than she is. 
Their aunt is chaperoning them, and they have a 
maid to do the cooking. I should think they’d be 
very comfortable. Their name is Spalding,” she 
added, reaching for the towel. 


The Spaldings 25 

Marian was putting wood into the stove, to heat 
the oven. Her face was averted, and she did not 
feel that she had anything to say. 


CHAPTER III 
pigeon's nest 

TT was after eight o’clock on the following morn- 
ing. Marian Frear, rowing down the lake, 
dipped her oars sternly into the blue crystal of the 
water. There was a fresh breeze which moderated 
the heat. The waves slapped coolly against the 
boat, and a feather of white spume flashed from the 
oars as they rose and fell. 

Marian wore a clean blue dress and a white collar. 
Her hair was braided more tightly than ever, to 
keep it from flying, for she wore no hat. “ I might 
as well get it over,” murmured the girl, as she threw 
her shoulders back to the motion of rowing. 
“ Might — as well • — get it — o-ver,” echoed the 
waves, striking the sides of the old unpainted boat. 

Marian noted that the smoke from the home chim- 
ney was hidden among the trees. The shore swung 
past her — sloping banks, brown and slippery with 
the pine needles dropped from the great pines that 
crowded down the hill; then solid masses of dark 
green foliage, with lighter spaces of bass-wood. 
Now and then she passed sandy shallows, sprinkled 
with rushes and lily-pads, and an occasional yellow 
lily. 

Her mood had softened from that of the day be- 
fore. She did not dread the ordeal quite so much 
as she expected. She was almost glad of the oppor- 
26 


Pigeon s Nest 27 

tunity to dispose of the fruit and vegetables which 
had cost her and her mother so many hours of hard 
work. It would be wrong to let the chance go by, 
she thought. But she wished she didn’t have to face 
a crowd of strangers. “ Perhaps I shan’t see them 
all at once,” she consoled herself. 

All too soon the newly-repaired dock at the Spald- 
ings’ cottage loomed out of the bright water. Tied 
to a post was the Paloma } swaying gently on her 
rope. Nailed to a tree at the foot of the bank was 
a board on which was painted in blue and black let- 
ters: Pigeon’s Nest. “I suppose that’s what they 
call their cottage,” meditated Marian. “ I wonder 
why? ” It seemed rather odd and foolish to give a 
name to a house in the woods. 

Gathering her courage, Marian tethered her boat, 
took out the provisions which she had brought, and 
climbed the hill, following the zig-zag course of the 
steps improvised of boards and rocks. As she 
ascended, she heard voices and laughter; and when 
she reached the top, she saw that the Spaldings were 
having breakfast on the screened porch. To 
Marian, it seemed as if there were dozens of people 
clustered around the table. As a matter of fact, 
there were only four : Agnes and Harvey, whom she 
had already seen; the other sister, older than Agnes 
but younger than Harvey; and the aunt who was 
chaperoning them, a handsome blond-haired woman 
in the late thirties. 

Marian stood hesitating at the brow of the hill, 
with her pail of berries and her basket of peas in her 
hands. Agnes, the first to spy her, called out 
shrilly, “ Oh, here come the raspberries, Auntie! ” 


28 


Marian F rear's Summer 


They all turned and gazed out through the wire 
screen at the shrinking delivery-girl, who felt as if a 
hundred eyes were directed at her. “ She acts as 
if the raspberries had swum here by themselves/’ she 
thought, between annoyance and humor. Aloud she 
said, looking at Agnes, “ Mrs. Frear sent these over, 
as she said she would.” 

The boy leaped up and came down the steps. 
“ Let me take those things,” he said, and lifted the 
pail and the basket from her. 

“ Come in,” called “ Auntie,” turning from her 
place at the head of the table. “ It’s no end good 
of you to bring us the berries. Harvey, ask Barbara 
to empty the pail. Come on in,” she urged, as 
Marian approached the door. 

With awkward reluctance, but with inward eager- 
ness, too, Marian stepped into the screened enclosure 
of the porch. Harvey had carried the berries and 
peas into the house. The young girl who was a bit 
older than Marian rose and came forward in a 
friendly way. She was slender and pretty, with light 
brown hair and blue-gray eyes. She wore a loose 
belted dress of pongee silk, with a blue frilled collar. 
“ Sit down,” she said cordially. “ You must be tired 
with the long row down the lake.” 

“ Oh, no,” Marian stammered in surprise. “ I’m 
used to it. It doesn’t tire me.” She sat down on 
a cushioned bench, and the other girl went back to 
her place at the table. The group of people had 
now reduced themselves to the normal number. 
Marian glanced shyly at the cream-colored crash 
table-cover and the clear glass vase holding grasses 
and black-eyed Susans. The dishes on the table 


29 


Pigeon’s Nest 

were of dull blue, with here and there a plate or a 
bowl of deep yellow. Marian had never seen such 
dishes before. 

“Won’t you have a cup of coffee?” asked the 
aunt, over her shoulder, shaking back the filmy sleeve 
of a pink silk negligee, and reaching for the coffee- 
pot. 

“ No — no, thank you,” Marian returned with an 
effort. She longed to drink out of one of the blue 
cups, and to take a muffin from the yellow plate, but 
she did not dare. “ I had my breakfast before I 
started,” she added, by way of explanation. Agnes, 
still busy with her breakfast, was staring at her with 
scarce-concealed curiosity. Marian sat with her eyes 
lowered to the high French heels of “ Auntie’s ” 
bronze slippers, under a frilly skirt. She was saved 
any more protests by the return of Harvey with 
basket and pail. Some pieces of money lay in the 
bottom of the basket. 

Marian rose, and put out her hands, flushing as 
she felt the boy’s eyes upon her. “ We were over 
your way yesterday,” he was saying. “ I tried to get 
some perch, but I only got a few little blue-gills.” 

“ Oh, you should have gone to the mouth of the 
creek,” answered Marian eagerly. She was less shy 
of this friendly boy than of the others. “ That’s the 
place for perch. I always go there for them — 
right at the mouth of the creek, where the bottom’s 
sandy.” She said creek , and not crick, as so many 
of the country people did. 

“ Ho! that’s the place? ” smiled the boy. “ I’m 
sorry I didn’t know it. I got a fearful roasting from 
my family when I came home with the ‘ pumpkin 


30 


Marian Frears Summer 


seeds.’ I’ll go over there as soon as I’ve finished 
breakfast. Want to go along, Lola, and Ag? ” 

“ Ag!” muttered the younger sister, with her 
mouth full of muffin. 

“ Yes, I’d love to, Harvey,” answered the older 
girl, “ though I’m not much good at fishing.” 

Harvey turned to Marian. “ Don’t you want to 
wait and ride over in our boat?” he said. “We 
can tow yours, you know.” 

Marian wanted dreadfully to do as he suggested; 
but a fever of shyness dried her tongue and thickened 
her voice. “I — my mother’s expecting me back. 
I’d better be going — ” she answered incoherently. 

“ It’ll only be a minute,” remonstrated Harvey. 

But she would not stay. In the few steps to the 
door, she caught a glimpse of the big brick fireplace 
in the house, bright chintz cushions, a bouquet of 
ferns and red field lilies. On the round wicker table 
beside her were illustrated magazines, and books in 
bright or sober jackets. She could hardly keep her 
hands from reaching out for them. “ If I could only 
borrow one,” she thought. “ They wouldn’t mind, 
but I can’t ask.” 

Then she was aware that “ Auntie ” was speak- 
ing to her. “ It’s good of you to bring the things,” 
the lady smiled, looking up at the girl who stood 
with her hand on the latch of the door. The eyes 
of the older woman stopped at Marian’s neck. 
Marian put up her hand as if there were an ant or a 
grasshopper there. “ Why, you have thread lace 
on your collar,” cried the lady impulsively. 

“ Have I? ” Marian spoke in a startled way, very 
much as if the object of interest had really been a 


Pigeons Nest 31 

grasshopper. A thread lace collar on a print dress 
did not seem to her very extraordinary, but she 
flushed with confusion as she fumbled for the latch 
again. Harvey looked puzzled. 

“ Didn’t you know it? ” asked “ Auntie.” 

“ It’s some that my grandmother had,” responded 
the girl, growing more diffident. 

“ It’s charming.” The lady’s keen eyes appraised 
the lace, and then rested on the shy face of the girl. 
“Well, good-by.” 

“ Good-by,” called Agnes in an awed tone, as if 
the thread lace had vanquished a proud spirit. 

Lola waved her hand and said “ Come again! ” 
with her cordial smile. 

As Marian ran down the hill, her mind was whirl- 
ing. With nervous fingers she untied her boat, 
which had swung around against the Paloma. After 
she had got in hastily and pushed off, she rowed 
slowly, half hoping that the others would catch up 
with her. And as she rowed she thought with in- 
tensity of how really kind and friendly and nice the 
group at “ Pigeon’s Nest ” had been. She knew 
they had spoken with sincerity when they asked her 
to drink coffee, to ride in their boat, to come again. 

She thought miserably of her stiffness and awk- 
wardness. What must they have thought of her? 
She shrank from dwelling on the sorry figure she 
must have cut, stammering and blundering and run- 
ning away. “ I don’t suppose they’ll try to be nice 
to me again,” she said forlornly. “ If I could only 
have acted as if I appreciated their kindness ! ” 

She turned to the mental contemplation of Lola’s 
pretty dress, with its touches of blue embroidery and 


32 


Marian F rear’s Summer 


its frilled collar; and the older woman’s pale pink 
breakfast-gown, trimmed with lace and blue bows. 
As she pulled absently at the oars, halfway down the 
lake, she saw the three young people come racing 
down the hill to the dock, and heard their laughter 
as they leaped into their boat and pushed it off. 
Harvey and Agnes were rowing. Lola put up a 
crimson parasol. Fishpoles stuck out at the stern 
of the boat. The Paloma was headed for the mouth 
of the creek, over at the west. The creak of the 
oars grew faint, mingled with a catch of song that 
Harvey was singing, something that Marian had 
never heard. 

“ They have nothing to do but enjoy themselves,” 
thought the lonely girl, with a twinge at the heart. 
A long tiresome piece of weeding awaited her at 
home. 

Mrs. Frear was at the kitchen door as Marian 
came up the path. “ Well,” she said, scanning her 
daughter’s face, “ how did it go? Was it bad? ” 

“ It was awful.” Marion stood on the stone step, 
her breast heaving. “ No, it wasn’t really,” she ad- 
mitted. “ They were nice to me, and not patron- 
izing or snippy. They asked me to have coffee — 
they were eating breakfast.” 

“ And did you? ” 

“ No. I wanted to, mother, but I — And they 
asked me to ride in their boat. They were going 
for perch where I told them to — over at the mouth 
of the creek.” 

“ And you didn’t? ” 

“ No. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Why 
couldn’t I, mother? ” 


33 


Pigeon’s Nest 

For a moment the face of the mother showed dis- 
tress. Then she said calmly, “ I suppose it’s be- 
cause you’ve been so shut off from young people, 
dear. Now that you have a chance to meet them, 
you ought to try to get over this sensitiveness.” 

“ Perhaps I shan’t have the chance,” suggested 
Marian wretchedly. “ I didn’t meet them half 
way.” 

“ Well, if you do, you must forget yourself and 
be natural.” 

u It seems natural to me to be unnatural.” The 
girl smiled wanly as she came into the house. “ But 
I will try.” As she put away the pail and the basket, 
she remarked, “ They seemed to think it was queer 
that I had that lace of Grandma’s on my collar.” 

“What lace?” asked Mrs. Frear. “Oh, that. 
You might have told them,” she supplemented with a 
whimsical look, “ that we couldn’t afford any other 
kind.” 

“ The aunt — I don’t know what her name is — 
stared awfully hard at me when she saw it. But she 
was pleasant, too. I couldn’t help liking her.” 

“ I shouldn’t bother about the lace,” said Mrs. 
Frear in her sensible way. 

“ It was the books I wanted,” sighed Marian, as 
she took her weeding tools and started for the 
garden. All the rest of the morning, she kept think- 
ing about the Spaldings. Where was their father? 
And what was “Auntie’s ” name? Why did they 
call their place “Pigeon’s Nest”? She wondered 
where they lived when they were at home, and 
whether they went to school. “ Of course they do,” 
she thought, jabbing at a weed with her case-knife. 


Marian Frear s Summer 


34 

She wished she could have gone fishing with the 
three young people. It would be cool in the shade 
of the tamaracks, in the breath of the swamp ; 
through the clear water, one could see the sandy bot- 
tom, with its scattering of green moss and twisted 
lily stems. One could even watch the fish nibbling 
at the bait, but that seemed rather cruel. 

All day the thought of the newcomers was in 
Marian’s mind, but after the first hour it was more 
dreamy than fretful. In the evening she and her 
mother walked down to the landing. There was 
no one in sight upon the lake. On its smooth sur- 
face lay the reflection of innumerable small scale- 
like clouds, golden-pink, with deeper tinges at the 
edge. 

“ ‘ A mackerel sky 

Never goes off and leaves the world dry,’ ” 

quoted Mrs. Frear. And then she added prac- 
tically, “We must look carefully after the young 
turkeys to-night.” 

Marian plucked some of the irises and black-eyed 
Susans. “ See, how this blue and yellow go to- 
gether,” she said, holding off the bouquet and survey- 
ing it with a recollection of the Spaldings’ breakfast 
table. Mrs. Frear smiled to see a new animation in 
her daughter’s face. 

It did rain the next day, not in torrents, but in a 
fine quick constant downpour. The air was raw and 
cold, quite different from the almost oppressive 
warmth of the day before. Marian, looking out of 
her window upstairs, noted the weather with some 
dissatisfaction, partly because she thought of the 


Pigeon’s Nest 33 

new crop of weeds which would spring up, and partly 
because she disliked the gloom of a day indoors and 
the disagreeable task of paddling about in the wet 
attending to various “ chores ” about the barn and 
garden. Her mind reverted to the Spaldings. No 
chance of seeing them to-day, she thought. In spite 
of the humiliations of the day before, she found, to 
her own surprise, that she was looking forward to 
seeing the young people again. 

She went down stairs, and found that her mother 
had already built a fire, and was making coffee. 
Rosy-Nosey behind the stove was washing her little 
black-and-white face, occasionally stopping to utter 
a coaxing mew when she thought of breakfast. 
Some oatmeal, cooked the night before, was warm- 
ing on the stove; Marian put some of this with milk 
into a blue earthenware pie-plate, and gave it to the 
hungry cat. 

“ I meant to get up, but the room was so dark that 
I overslept,” she said. “ You should have wakened 
me.” 

“ It’s too bad a day to do much,” answered Mrs. 
Frear; “ and you had the fire all ready to light, so 
that was easy. Come. The coffee’s ready.” 

They ate breakfast on a little sewing-table in the 
kitchen. The room was dull, except for the red 
coals in the front of the stove, and a scarlet geranium 
blooming on the window sill. Outside, through the 
swaying and dripping grapevine, showed the fresh 
green of the garden, with splashes of color, where 
flowers bordered the plots of vegetables. 

“ I like a rainy day because it gives me a chance 
to do so much in-doors,” Mrs. Frear said as they 


36 


Marian Frears Summer 


rose from the table. “ I think I’ll bake a few 
things to last over Sunday.” 

“ I’ll go out and feed the chickens. There’s no 
use in letting them out, is there? ” queried Marian. 

“ No, they can run in their own yard.” 

Marian put on her old faded rain-coat with a 
clumsy cape; a shapeless felt hat; and heavy 
“ storm ” rubbers. She could not bother with an 
umbrella, and so she wore old garments which no 
amount of rain could injure. 

When she stepped out at the kitchen door, there 
was hardly a living creature in sight. The low gray 
clouds and drizzling rain cast a blur over the land- 
scape, and dulled the tones of meadow and lake. 
Under the eaves of the barn, on a box fastened up 
for a bird-house, some white doves huddled, motion- 
less and noiseless. 

Marian went to the chicken-house, which was at- 
tached to the barn, and sprinkled corn and oats 
among the heaps of straw upon the floor. “ You’ll 
have to do as the rest of us do — scratch for what 
you get,” she informed the fowls, eying her askance 
in subdued groups. She opened the door into their 
wire-enclosed runway, and one or two older hens 
ventured out, lifting their feet irritably and flutter- 
ing their feathers. 

As Marian turned away, she heard a discon- 
solate peep, peep from a nook under the edge of the 
coop. A brown hen was sheltering her brood, ar- 
rived unduly late in the season. “ Oh, Hannah has 
come off with her chickens, on a wet day like this ! ” 
cried the girl, vexed and amused. It had been im- 
possible to find the hidden nest of the brown hen. 


37 


Pigeon’s Nest 

Now she was clucking and bridling apologetically in 
a half-dry corner, rueing, no doubt, her ill-timed 
return with her young chicks. She let Marian feel 
under her for the draggled bits of fluff, which had 
been trailed through the soaking grass on the way 
home from the hidden nest. The girl took the 
wettest of the little creatures into her skirt and car- 
ried them to the house. 

“ What a day for Hannah to choose ! ” sighed 
Mrs. Frear, running to the woodshed for a box in 
which to tuck up the chirping strangers. Soon they 
were cozily snuggled down under a warm cloth. 

Tootie poked an inquiring nose over the edge of the 
box, as it sat behind the stove. “ No, no, Tootie! 
Those are not for you,” admonished Marian, as she 
pulled the cat gently away. The injured puss went 
to sit on the window sill, and gaze thoughtfully out 
into the moist green world; she turned in mild per- 
plexity now and then, when a louder peep than usual 
sounded from the box. 

By this time, Marian had gone to milk the cow, 
too long neglected, and to bring in wood for the day. 
She drew water, too, from the covered well in the 
yard, with its two balancing buckets; and she went 
out and pulled some vegetables in the garden. By 
this time, she was thoroughly bedraggled and sop- 
ping, and in her desire to get everything done as 
quickly as possible, she had forgotten all about her 
looks. 

When she came in with a basin of new potatoes, 
she noticed that the board which ran from the eaves 
of the house into the rain barrel at the corner of 
the lean-to had slipped out of place, so that the 


38 Marian Frear’s Summer 

water was running to the ground. The board had 
been fastened by a strong wire, which had rusted 
and broken. Marian took the potatoes into the 
kitchen, and then came back to the rain barrel. She 
was struggling to put the heavy plank back into its 
place when she heard a step on the walk. Looking 
around hastily, she saw Harvey Spalding standing 
behind her, dressed in a yellow “ slicker ” and a gray 
felt hat. 

“ Oh! ” she cried, and dropped the board clatter- 
ing upon the barrel. 

“ It’s a wonder that didn’t fall on your toes,” re- 
marked Harvey by way of greeting. 

“ I — wasn’t expecting to s,ee any one,” answered 
Marian weakly. She was thinking of her strange 
costume, her draggled skirts and muddy feet and ugly 
hat. 

“ The rain means nothing in my young life,” 
smiled Harvey. Marian, not knowing much slang, 
thought his speech rather queer. “ And the folks at 
home are hungrier on wet days than any other,” he 
went on, “ so I came out to provide for the family. 
Here, I’ll attend to that board for you.” 

He lifted the board and forced it into place, so 
that the trickle from the eaves found its proper way 
into the barrel. Then he seized and twisted the 
wire, making it as firm as it had been before. 
“ There ! That’ll last for a hundred years,” he said 
with satisfaction. 

“Thank you — it’s awfully kind,” murmured 
Marian. “I’m a sight — been looking after the 
chickens.” The rain was falling on the two young 


Pigeon’s Nest 39 

people, as they stood smiling at each other, regard- 
less of the weather. 

“ Lots to do about a place,” said the boy cheer- 
fully, and taking no note of the attempted apology. 
“ Well, I wonder what you have for us this morn- 
ing. Food just melts away, over at Pigeon’s Nest.” 

“ Pigeons do have terrific appetites,” replied 
Marian, wondering why she did not feel so shy as 
she would have expected. “ But why do you call 
your place that? ” 

“ It is a trifle silly, isn’t it? In the first place, we 
named our boat the Paloma — because we liked the 
name — and that means pigeon , in Spanish, you 
know.” 

“ N-no, I didn’t know; but it’s a pretty name,” 
Marian stammered. 

“ We think so,” the boy answered. “ And then 
Auntie’s name is an odd one — she’s Mrs. Dove. I 
don’t suppose any of us thought to make any intro- 
ductions when you were over the other day.” 

“ I didn’t hear her name.” Marian had hardly 
considered herself a sufficiently important guest to be 
introduced. 

“ She’s father’s sister, you know. Well, as I said, 
her name is Dove now, and we thought of calling 
the place Dove Cote, but that sounded sort of senti- 
mental; and sad to say we’re not always as harmon- 
ious as turtle doves.” Harvey laughed, as if he 
were remembering some diverting family disagree- 
ments. “ So we compromised on Pigeon’s Nest.” 

“ It seems funny to me,” Marian confessed. 
“ We might call ours Duck’s Nest, or Turkey Lodge, 


4 o 


Marian Frears Summer 


— only we haven’t any turkey relatives.” She 
flushed, surprised that she could speak so naturally; 
but there was something about Harvey — a kind of 
simple jollity — which put her at her ease. 

Harvey laughed. “ Oh, say,” he remarked, “ I 
saw your boat down at the landing, half full of water. 
It ought to be bailed out.” 

“ There’s no use till it stops raining,” Marian 
responded. “ We’ve always wished we had a boat- 
house, but we’ve never — got around to build one.” 
She hardly liked to say, “ We’ve never been able to 
afford one.” 

They had turned toward the kitchen door. 
“ Come in,” said the girl, and opened the screen, 
beginning to feel embarrassed about asking Harvey 
into the kitchen. She could hardly insist on his tak- 
ing the roundabout way to the front door, which they 
hardly ever used. 

The room, when the opening of the inner door dis- 
closed it, was rather dark, but warm and sweet- 
smelling. Mrs. Frear was standing at the table, 
taking ginger cookies out of a long shallow pan, and 
laying them on a folded cloth. She looked over her 
shoulder as the two young people entered. 

“ Mother, this is Mr. Spalding. You know, his 
people are living at the Craik place.” Marian per- 
formed the introduction in a confused voice, and 
slipped into the other room to take off her wraps 
and hang them in the winter kitchen. She heard 
her mother saying, “ Oh, yes, I met your sister yes- 
terday, or the day before.” 

Harvey had taken off his hat, and now stood 
easily near the door. “ Agnes came up the other 


4i 


Pigeon's Nest 

day, while I was fishing,” he said. “ And now I’m 
here to get some more of those good things that you 
sent.” 

Mrs. Frear had disposed of the last of the cookies. 
“ Sit down,” she said, “ and have one of these. I 
don’t know whether they’re good or not.” She took 
down a plate from the cupboard, and put some of 
the spicy brown cookies on it. “ Do have some,” 
she repeated cordially. In her gray print dress and 
white apron, she looked younger and more attractive 
than she had looked in the nondescript garments 
which she wore when at work in the garden. 

Harvey, still standing, out of deference to the 
hostess, took one of the cakes with an eager gesture. 
“ Thank you. I couldn’t have stood it if you hadn’t 
asked me,” he laughed. “ I should have snatched 
a handful right off the table.” 

Marian came back into the room, her hair some- 
what ruffled with her out-of-door labors, and not so 
severe as usual. Harvey was munching his cooky, 
and she accepted one and began eating. Mrs. Frear 
explained about the chickens, while Harvey bent over 
to peer at them in their shadowy recess behind the 
stove. 

He turned to Marian as she came in. “ I got a 
lot of perch where you told me to go,” he said. 
“ And now I’m going to try fishing in the rain. 
They say it’s a good time for black bass. Do you 
know where to find any? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” she answered, “ along the reeds, just 
off that shallow place that you pass in coming over 
here. Mr. Grant — a man that lives over on the 
main road — comes and fishes there quite often. 


42 


Marian F rear’s Summer 


I’ve only caught a few black bass. They’re too — 
gamey , isn’t it? — for me.” 

“ I hope they won’t be gamey enough to get away. 
I’ll go after ’em, anyhow. And I’ve brought along a 
trolling line and spoon-hook for pickerel. I suppose 
there are some.” 

“ Yes, big ones,” assented Marian, glad to have 
a subject of conversation on which she knew some- 
thing. “ We have them once in a while. Mother 
cooks fish to perfection. There’s nothing much bet- 
ter than her baked bass or fried pickerel.” 

“ Marian is prejudiced in my favor,” said Mrs. 
Frear; “ but it is an art to cook fish well. It must 
be cooked enough ) and then a little more.” She was 
sitting, holder in hand, ready to take a look at a 
tin of cookies in the oven. 

“ Father will want to know all about the best fish- 
ing places,” Harvey said, finishing his second ginger 
snap. “ He’s coming pretty soon, for a day or two. 
He’s so busy that he can’t get up here very often.” 

“ That’s too bad, when you’re all here together,” 
Mrs. Frear sympathized. 

“ Yes, he expected to spend at least a month with 
us, but something came up, and he couldn’t do it. 
So I have to be the man of the family.” The boy 
spoke jestingly, but with a dash of real pride. 
“ Oire man doesn’t have much show in a family-group 
of three women. If father were here, we might be 
able to hold our own together.” 

And so the conversation went on, half seriously, 
for fifteen minutes. The girl, listening and not say- 
ing much, discovered that the Spaldings lived in an 
Illinois city, not far from Chicago, that the mother 


43 


Pigeon’s Nest 

had been dead for six years, and that “ Aunt Elsie ” 
had presided over the household for four; during the 
two intervening years, there had been a succession 
of “ housekeepers,” whose varying characteristics 
Harvey, after an expressive grimace, had left to the 
imagination of his listeners. 

“ It’s pretty dreadful,” thought Marian, “ losing 
their mother just when they needed her the most. 
No matter how well-to-do they might be, you could 
never really call them rich.” She felt somehow less 
in awe of the Spaldings after she had heard these 
details about their family life. 

“ It was funny, the way we happened to come 
here,” Harvey went on. “ It was getting on into 
the summer, and father had been so busy he hadn’t 
decided what to do, and he met a man on the train 
— a real estate agent — who told him about a cot- 
tage for rent on the Chain of Lakes here, and father 
got right off the train at Willford and went out and 
looked at the place, and rented it, and telegraphed 
us to get ready to come. One day, we’d never heard 
of it, and the next — or a few days after, to be 
accurate — we were here.” 

“ I hope you weren’t disappointed,” said Mrs. 
Frear. 

“ I should say not. It was repaired in a hurry, 
and there’s really a lot that ought to be done yet; 
but we think it’s great. The only trouble is that it’s 
lonesome for Aunt Elsie — Mrs. Dove — for she 
likes bridge-parties and such things; and then of 
course it isn’t very easy for father to get to, but one 
reason why he liked it was because it was off away 
from everything.” 


44 Marian Frear s Summer 

“Oh, yes, it’s off away from everything!” said 
Marian involuntarily, in a voice which she could not 
keep from being a bit hard. 

Harvey shot her a puzzled glance, and began to 
talk about the eggs and berries which he had come to 
get. He went away with a pail of eggs and a burlap 
bag of “ garden stuff,” and a pocketful of ginger 
cookies which Mrs. Frear insisted on his taking. 

“ He’s a nice friendly boy,” she said meditatively, 
standing at the screen door, after he had trudged 
away in the rain with his “ plunder,” as he called it. 
“ There’s nothing very alarming about him,” she 
added, turning to Marian, who was putting the 
cookies into a jar. 

“ It’s queer, but I don’t feel as afraid of him as I 
do of the girls,” confessed Marian. “ Girls are al- 
ways so critical and disapproving.” 

“ I don’t believe these girls are,” said Mrs. Frear, 
going back to her cooking. “ They had a nice 
mother.” 

“How do you know?” asked Marian. She 
paused with the cover of the jar in her hand. 

“ I don’t know,” her mother replied, “ but I’m 
sure of it just the same. You don’t have to be told 
some things. What do you say to our having cream 
cake for supper? ” 


CHAPTER IV 


A CAPTIVE FREED 

CUNDAY came, with an uncertain mingling of sun 
^ and cloud. The young chicks had grown dry 
and hungry, and were transferred to a little gable- 
roofed coop with their mother. By the afternoon, 
the sky had completely cleared, giving assurance that 
the rain was over. 

Marian went down to the landing, to bail out the 
boat, so that she might take her mother for a ride on 
the lake. She found that some one had been there 
before her. The boat had been bailed and swabbed 
dry, and a row of tall yellow Susans had been stuck 
about the bow, in a slender bright circle of bloom. 
The boat swung complacently under the bass-wood 
tree, the shadows of the flowers coloring the waves. 
The girl stood astonished, and then a smile of com- 
prehension came. “ It’s Harvey Spalding. How 
good of him ! ” 

The quiet courtesy of the act was something new 
and interesting to her. She had never known any 
boys who would have thought to do that sort of 
thing. 

On Monday afternoon he came swinging up the 
path from the lake. He and Marian greeted each 
other like old friends. “ Thank you for bailing the 
boat,” said Marian quickly. 

45 


46 Marian F rear’s Summer 

“ Oh, the water-sprites did that,” the boy replied, 
“ but you’re welcome, just the same.” 

And then he did what was to Marian a very sur- 
prising thing. After the business of “ providing for 
the family ” had been concluded, he turned to 
Marian, saying easily, “ Don’t you want to go up the 
creek with me? I thought I’d take a little excursion 
up there before I went home.” 

Marian looked startled. “Now?” she asked. 
“ But what about the ‘ plunder ’ ? ” 

“ There’s no hurry about it. They don’t need it 
this minute. Can you spare the time to go? I 
know you’re busy.” 

“ Why, I can spare the time, I think,” said the 
girl shyly. “ Is it all right, mother? Will you let 
things go till I come back? ” 

“ Yes, of course it’s all right. It will do you good. 
And I’ll promise not to be too strenuous.” 

“ Come on, then,” said Harvey, picking up his 
basket of vegetables. “ Good-by, Mrs. Frear. 
Don’t expect her till she arrives.” 

Marian felt fluttered at the idea of taking this 
little excursion with Harvey, even though she had 
lost a good deal of the self-consciousness which had 
hampered her at first. They walked down through 
the meadow to the landing, saying very little. 
Harvey was singing under his breath a negro song 
familiar to Marian: 

“ I went down to the ribber, but I couldn’t get across, — 
Took a little row down Jordan.” 

He was still humming when he untied the boat: 

“ Shine on, shine on, O Jerusalem! ” 


A Captive Freed 47 

Marian felt a thrill of excitement as she stepped 
into the Paloma, and sank into the broad seat at the 
stern. Harvey tossed down his hat, and took up the 
oars, having stowed away the basket in the bow. 
“ Wonderful weather after the rain,” he remarked. 
“ A lot cooler than it was.” 

Marian assented. And then she said, “ It seems 
odd to be sitting back, doing nothing. I usually do 
the rowing myself. I go out alone a good deal, and 
then of course I take mother out, too.” 

“ It’ll be good for you to watch some other fellow 
work, then,” replied the boy gayly, as he guided the 
boat through the shallows. “ And how’s the land 
army? ” he asked, as the Paloma took her flight into 
bluer waters. 

“ If you mean me, — ” hesitated Marian, “ I’m all 
right. I’ve been working pretty hard lately.” 

“ You certainly do keep at it,” Harvey responded. 
“ Don’t you get tired? ” 

“ Oh, sometimes.” Marian felt afraid that she 
was going to be pitied, and above all things she 
shrank at that moment from commiseration. “ But 
I don’t mind very much, — the work, you know. I 
like the garden, and being out-doors.” 

“ I don’t mind work, either,” Harvey answered, 
as if he were confiding to her some peculiarity of 
temperament which she shared. “ And anyhow,” he 
went on, pulling steadily at the oars, “ a person with 
any gumption wants to be doing something, instead 
of being fed with a spoon.” 

Marian watched the water trickling from the tips 
of the oars, as they rose and fell in rhythm. “ I’m 
glad I have work to do,” she said slowly. “ That 


48 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

isn’t what worries me. It’s only — ” She did not 
finish, for she felt that she knew this boy too little 
to tell him her longings and perplexities. 

Harvey waited until he saw that she was not going 
on. “ I’m looking forward to a year of hard work, 
myself,” he said frankly. 

“Oh, are you?” Marian looked surprised. 
Somehow, she had not thought of the Spaldings as 
interested in anything but amusing themselves. 

“ Yes, even harder than last year. I’ve finished 
one year at Arden Institute, you know.” 

“ No, I hadn’t heard.” Arden Institute Marian 
knew vaguely as a large technical school in Chi- 
cago. 

“ And this next year,” the young man continued, 
“ I’m going to dig in like mad. No idle hours for 
little Henry!” 

“ Studying what? ” she asked with interest. 

“ Chemistry, chiefly, — though there are a lot of 
other things that I can’t keep my fingers off. 
There’s a great opportunity for chemists and other 
scientists, now, you know.” His blue eyes sparkled 
with enthusiasm as he spoke of his ambitions. 

“ I suppose so.” Marian had never thought much 
about the things in question. 

Harvey was going on, as if he did not mind her 
short bewildered answers. “ I worked so hard last 
year that I got a good start. They gave me a job, 
too, so that I’m going to be a full-sized wage- 
earner.” His flippant words concealed a pardon- 
able satisfaction. 

Marian was surprised again. Her picture of the 
Spaldings had included a superb indifference to 


A Captive Freed 49 

money, because there was plenty at command. 
“ How do you mean? ” she faltered. 

Harvey stopped rowing, and wiped his forehead 
with his handkerchief. “ Not so horribly cool, after 
all,” he interpolated. Then he followed up his pre- 
vious remarks. “ Why, I’m to look after the 
laboratory that I work in — kind of student assist- 
ant, you know. I’m to see that things are put back 
in their places, bottles filled, test-tubes and beakers 
and rubber tubes and such things on hand — alcohol 
for the alcohol lamps — all that sort of thing. 
Saves the prof’s time and energy, and you can’t trust 
janitors to have things right.” 

“ It must be splendid to have a position like that,” 
glowed the girl. She did not like to say job, lest it 
sound unappreciative. 

“ A fellow learns a lot by just nosing around in 
the lab,” Harvey explained. “ Then I like the idea 
of getting that much nearer to independence.” He 
glanced inquiringly at Marian, to see whether she 
accepted his view. “ Father has always said I could 
have what I needed, but he likes to see me doing 
something for myself. I think a young fellow 
should earn what he can on his own account. Don’t 
you? ” 

“ Well, yes, I do,” said Marian, who had not yet 
recovered from her surprise. “ But I didn’t sup- 
pose — ” She hardly knew how to go on. 

“That any one worked who didn’t have to?” 
asked Harvey quizzically. 

“ Maybe that’s what I meant,” confessed Marian, 
flushing. 

“ Well, they do. I know a lot of fellows whose 


50 Marian Frears Summer 

fathers are well off, and they (the fellows, I mean) 
have jobs of some sort. One of ’em keeps books 
for a delicatessen man; one collects for a grocery 
firm; and one of ’em typewrites theses for the seniors. 
Then there are one or two that have work in the 
Registrar’s office, or around the school.” 

“ I think that’s wonderful,” chorused Marian. 
“ And do the girls do that sort of thing, too? ” she 
inquired dubiously. 

“ Loads of them,” returned Harvey, with extrava- 
gance. “ That is, you know, Arden isn’t a girls’ 
school; but in other schools they do — work to earn 
money, I mean. Why, even in the high school where 
I went — where Lola and Agnes go now — there 
were girls who earned money in lots of ways. Most 
of them were girls who needed the money, but some 
of them weren’t. Some of them had the ‘ new 
woman ’ idea of being independent.” 

Marian fell silent. All this was so new to her 
that she wanted to think it over. She didn’t know 
that young people in towns — young people who had 
had a “ chance,” as she would have put it — enter- 
tained ideas like that. 

Harvey was singing to himself in his habitual way, 

“ Shine on, shine on, 

Took a little row down Jordan, 

Shine on, shine on, O Jerusalem!” 

They had now approached the mouth of the creek, 
and with only a brief word or two about the scene, 
they entered the space where the stream flowed into 
the lake, beside the tamarack swamp. The girl 
loved this spot, where the still shadows lurked even 


A Captive Freed £i 

at noon, where marsh grasses waved and multitudes 
of flowers grew, and golden fishes darted and sang 
like yellow flecks of light and music. 

“ Some place ! ” The boy’s slangy words ex- 
pressed his real delight. 

“ I’m awfully fond of it,” said Marian with an 
effort. “ Lots of times, when I’m lonesome and 
tired, I come over here and sit in the boat, and it — 
it’s company, in a way — the birds, and all,” she 
finished lamely. 

“ I know. You must be lonesome here some- 
times.” The young man spoke with a slow surprise, 
as if he had not thought of this aspect of things be- 
fore. 

“ Dreadfully! ” The girl’s voice shook in spite 
of her attempt to control it. 

Harvey gave her a quick glance of comprehension, 
but said nothing in reply. He rowed slowly up the 
wide mouth of the creek, where white water-flowers 
sprinkled the still, dark surface, and water-spiders 
sprawled and wavered in the sun. A great bird rose 
up with a splash and flew swiftly up the course of the 
stream, disappearing among the foliage. “ What’s 
that? ” asked Harvey. 

“ A sand-hill crane,” his companion answered. 
“ There’s usually one in the marsh, here, hunting for 
frogs.” 

The creek grew narrower, and the boat glided 
closer to the shore. Clumps of pink-and-white lady- 
slippers had sprung up here, their exquisite bells 
lighting up the green shadows below the tamaracks. 
In the more open spaces, red-winged blackbirds hung 
on slender stems and sang. 


52 Marian Frear’s Summer 

“ The banks here are too marshy and miry for 
landing,” Marian explained. “ Farther up, they’re 
more solid, but it’s hard poling the boat; there are 
so many turnings, and the water is shallow in some 
places and deep in others, and then there are logs 
and fallen branches.” 

“ We’ll try it, anyhow,” the youth answered. 

But they were not to go much farther that day. 
“ What is that queer fluttering over there? ” asked 
Marian, when they had rowed on for a few minutes. 

They were puzzled to note a disturbance among 
the rushes at the side of the stream, where it began 
to merge into the lake. The bank showed bright 
green reeds, bordered by the delicate lavender of 
lobelia. Harvey half rose in the boat. “ It’s a 
bird or a duck or something, flapping its wings,” he 
said. “ I wonder why it doesn’t fly, if it’s going to.” 

“ Perhaps it’s afraid of us,” ventured Marian, 
“ but if it is, why doesn’t it take to its wings? ” 

The flapping and fluttering continued, with a faint 
spatter of water and a stifled cry from the bird. 

“ We’ll see what’s doing,” said Harvey, taking up 
the oars again. “ We mustn’t pass up an adventure 
like this.” 

He rowed quietly over to the edge of the stream, 
where the water was shallow and muddy, and tufted 
with hummocks of turf, from which waved sedges 
and arrow-flowers. Harvey, looking over his 
shoulder as he rowed, and Marian rising in her seat, 
saw the brown feathers of a bird moving upon one 
of the larger hummocks. 

“ It’s a mud-hen,” said Marian curiously. 
“ What in the world can be the matter with it? ” 


A Captive Freed 53 

Harvey pushed the boat nearer. “ It’s caught by 
the foot,” he exclaimed. 

The struggles of the bird grew wilder as the boat 
approached. “ Probably a big turtle has hold of its 
leg.” Marian stretched herself up to get a better 
view of the creature, among the grasses and blos- 
soms. 

“ Well, then, Mr. Turtle will have to give up his 
drumstick.” Harvey pushed the boat up as near 
as he could. “ Can’t get it close enough,” he said, 
frowning; the hummocks, made up of roots and 
earth, were too close together for the boat to go 
through. “ You’d think the turtle would let go, 
wouldn’t you? ” 

“ I don’t believe it’s a turtle, after all,” murmured 
the girl. She half rose again, holding to the side of 
the seat. “No — look! it’s a vine or something 
that the poor thing has got her foot tangled up in. 
You take a look at it.” 

Harvey peered over the sedges. The bird gave 
a piteous flutter, and strained its wings and body in 
a terrified attempt to get away from this new peril. 
“ I see,” the boy remarked; “ her leg is caught in 
a curling vine, probably too strong to break.” 

“ That’s it, I’m sure,” said Marian. 

“ ‘ What to do? ’ as the French grammar says,” 
meditated Harvey. “ I can’t get near enough to 
reach, and I dare not wade : that mud may be five 
or six feet deep.” He poked an oar into the sedi- 
ment and mire. 

“ Yes, yes, it probably is,” said Marian anxiously. 
“ Don’t try it.” 

Harvey looked at her, his blue eyes frankly dis- 


^4 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

tressed. “ We can’t go away and leave the thing to 
die.” 

“ I should say not,” Marian returned excitedly. 

The bird had subsided, panting. They could see 
its head turning this way and that, its eyes gleaming 
feverishly, as it sought some way of escape. 

Harvey sat staring at the shore. “ I couldn’t 
sleep to-night, if I had to think of the poor creature 
fluttering here, or being snatched by a weasel, with- 
out a chance for its life.” 

His companion was waiting for him to decide what 
to do. She did not feel like urging him to anything; 
for she knew better than he that the quagmires were 
too dangerous to be regarded lightly. “ You must 
be careful, whatever you do,” she warned. 

“ I will. But I must do something. There’s a 
place where I think I can get the boat near enough 
to the shore so that I can jump out.” 

“ And what are you going to do then? ” 

“ Go along the shore till I get somewhere near to 
the prisoner,” the boy said briefly. 

“ But even then you can’t reach her,” objected 
Marian. “ It’s a long way across the soft ground.” 

“ I can do my possible, to quote French again,” 
said Harvey. He gave her a quick look. “ You 
won’t worry and squeal, will you? But you aren’t 
that kind.” 

“ No, I won’t squeal,” was the reply; “ but I hope 
you’ll be careful. You understand, — it’s springy all 
along here ; the marsh is undermined. And the mud 
is bottomless in places.” 

“ I understand.” The oarsman was rowing to 
the one place near, in which the ground was solid 


A Captive Freed 55 

enough to sustain him. He leaped lightly ashore 
from the bow of the boat. 

“ Can I help you? ” queried Marian. 

“ No, thanks. One can work better at this game. 
You can be spectator, and encourage the acrobats. 
And you’ll have to be patient. It may take me quite 
a while. ” 

“ I don’t mind.” Marian did not see exactly 
what he was going to do. She pushed the boat into 
the stream and nearer the bird, for she had some 
idea of being at hand in case of need. 

The rescuer walked back into the tamarack 
swamp and picked up an armful of fallen boughs, 
most of them long and rather thick. Then he went 
to the tussocks of grass between the swamp and the 
place where the bird lay. Very cautiously, he tried 
the hummocks, some of which were too small for a 
foothold. Marian followed his motions earnestly. 
He went back and hung his watch and fob upon a 
branch of a tree, and divested himself of his coat. 
Then he returned to his work, taking the armful of 
boughs, and laying them side by side among the more 
solid patches of ground. He brought more boughs, 
and still more, until he had a rude path of them. 
Then he broke off branches from the tamarack trees, 
gathered armfuls of twigs and underbrush, and laid 
them over the stronger boughs, to give a footing. 
The girl in the boat frowned heavily. Would it 
hold? One could scarcely tell. 

Harvey took off his shoes, and stood measuring 
the distance across his highway to a bit of solid earth. 
Marian held her breath. With a short run, he 
bounded lightly across the space which he had 


56 Marian F rear’s Summer 

bridged, hardly touching the layer of branches and 
stem. He was on the larger hummock, but still too 
far away to reach the bird, even with the most 
serpentine stretchings. 

The captive had now ceased to struggle, and lay 
palpitating, evidently resigned to its end. Harvey 
began to pull up his bridge and laboriously to trans- 
fer it to the other side. It was tiresome work. 
Sweat gathered on his forehead, but he dashed it 
away. Not a word was exchanged between him and 
Marian. He worked swiftly but carefully, fitting 
the boughs together, the heavier poles below, the 
mass of underbrush on top. Now and again he 
tested the bridge with his foot. 

Marian moved nervously in the boat. For a 
moment, fear came over her. If he should slip 
down into the miry depths, the situation would be 
serious. He might be able to pull himself out, or 
she might be able to help him with an oar, or the 
jelly-like mud might not be so deep in that particular 
spot as it was in others, — but you couldn’t actually 
count on anything. She clutched the oar with strain- 
ing fingers. 

The boy was absorbed in his task. When he had 
finished, he stood up, and gave her a clear look, with 
a bright, reassuring smile. He was a straight, slim 
figure posed within the shadow which lay across the 
bank, the light touching his head and shoulders. 
Marian smiled back at him. Then without any ap- 
parent preparation, except the narrowing of his eyes 
to a keen line, he took a flying leap across the slender 
bridge, merely touching it with his toes. Almost in- 
stantaneously, he was crouching on the hummock 


A Captive Freed 57 

where the bird was lying. It gave a despairing flut- 
ter and squawk as he knelt beside it. Very gently 
he loosed its foot from the entangling tendrils of the 
vine, bending to examine the exhausted creature for 
any concealed injury. 

“ All right; nothing broken ! ” he called exultantly. 

“ I’m so glad.” Marian’s voice was steady and 
joyful. 

The bird lay wearily on its side, its bright eye up- 
turned to the boy. At last, gathering strength from 
hope, it rose to its feet, stretched its wings, faltered, 
and then flew away in a low stumbling flight to the 
edge of the swamp. 

The two young people watched it with happiness 
in their hearts. Marian waved her hand as the bird 
disappeared. 

“Good-by, and better luck!” called Harvey, 
from his narrow island. 

The rescue accomplished, the rescuer turned his 
attention to the problem of getting back to solid land. 
With a swift motion, he leaped across his improvised 
bridge; but now came the trying process of trans- 
ferring its crude materials from the next hummock to 
the shore. He seemed longer about the work than 
he had been at first, more cautious and less certain. 
Finally he stood ready for the last trial. Marian 
held her breath. She saw the hummock quiver with 
the long strain which had been put upon it. It be- 
gan to give. Harvey leaped, without the chance to 
measure his effort. He slipped, tottered, swayed. 
Marian’s heart was in her mouth. Harvey threw 
out his arms, recovered himself, and plunged forward 
to the solid bank. As he sprang, his feet slipped, 


5 8 Marian Frear’s Summer 

and one leg went deep into the oozy mire. His 
hands grasped at the small bushes and turf, and he 
pulled himself out, falling headlong on the grass. 

Marian found herself standing up in the boat. 
She sat down quickly when she saw that he was safe. 

With a laugh, the boy scrambled up. The side of 
his face was scratched by briers; the sleeve of his 
shirt was torn across in several places. He made 
a sorry sight, with his muddy leg and dripping foot. 
Marian laughed hysterically at his gesture and 
grimace. 

“ I’m a regular black-leg,” said Harvey, endeavor- 
ing to wipe off the mud with handfuls of grass. 
Very calmly he took off his stocking, went and rinsed 
it in the water, wrung it as dry as he could, and put 
it on. Then he put on his shoes, donned his coat, 
and took his watch from the tamarack bough where 
he had hung it. “ We’ve been at this job quite a 
while,” he called as he put his watch back into his 
pocket. “ But the time was well spent — eh ? ” 

“ I should say! ” Marian now brought the boat 
up to the shore, and Harvey got in. He stood in 
the bow, looking about for a sight of the bird, but it 
was lost to view in the swamp. 

“ You’re a brick not to yowl and take on,” he said. 
“ Some girls would have been squealing their heads 
off. But I couldn’t have done anything if you hadn’t 
kept still.” 

“ I know,” said the girl eagerly. “ Once or twice 
I nearly screeched, but I knew it would be fatal if I 
did.” 

“ Well, this has been a nice little adventure to vary 
the monotony of things.” Harvey sat down wearily 


A Captive Freed 

on the seat in the bow. “ All the same, I hope the 
marsh-hens won’t get the habit of winding them- 
selves up in wild bean vines whenever I come this 
way. I don’t mind rescuing three or four, but I 
draw the line at a flock of ’em.” 

“ I don’t think it’ll happen every day,” laughed 
Marian. She felt exhilarated, now that the worry 
was over. 

“ We’d better put for home, or our relatives will 
think we’ve gone overboard, sure,” sighed Harvey. 
“We’ll change seats — or rather, you’ll sit in the 
stern. I’ll do the rowing now.” 

“ Mayn’t I do it? You’re tired with your life- 
saving work,” protested the girl. “You know I’m 
used to rowing.” 

“ No, indeed. I row the PalomaF said Harvey 
in a decisive tone. Marian obediently gave up the 
oars and took the seat in the stern. After all, it was 
a luxury to be conveyed over the waters with no 
exertion, and she couldn’t wrangle about it with this 
firm young man. The shadows of the shore had 
grown long, across the blue lake, and the afternoon 
had come close to ending. The two young people 
were quiet as they made their way back to the Frears’ 
landing. But they had begun to feel as if they had 
known each other a long time. 


CHAPTER V 

THE DOWNPOUR 

M R. GRANT stood at the kitchen door again, 
a kindly shabby figure. Toro sniffed warily 
through the wire at the cat within. 

“Anything to send to-day?” the old man asked 
cheerfully. 

“ No eggs, but plenty of green stuff,” answered 
Mrs. Frear, going to open the door. “ The 
Gordons wrote that they would take all we could 
send.” 

“ That’s fine.” Mr. Grant stepped over the 
threshold, at the same time excluding the hesitating 
Toro. “ Garden doing well? ” 

“ Yes, very well. We keep at it, you know. 
Won’t you sit down? ” 

“ No, no! Just here for a minute.” 

Marian went to get the vegetables, freshly packed 
into wooden boxes. When she came back, Mr. 
Grant was saying, “ Gettin’ to be good friends with 
the folks across the lake? ” 

“ We’ve seen them once or twice. They’ve been 
over for things to eat — eggs, you know, and garden 
stuff,” Mrs. Frear replied. “ They seem to be nice 
people.” 

“ Carl Erickson says they’re a lively lot,” Mr. 
Grant remarked — “ swimmin’ and splashin’ around, 
60 


The Downpour 61 

hootin’ and laffin’, and makin’ fun of folks, and 
takin’ on generally.” 

Marian flushed and frowned. Her mother gave 
her a look. “ We think they’re very well behaved,” 
said Mrs. Frear calmly. 

“ I only know what Carl says,” admitted the other. 
“ He don’t think much of ’em. Now, Mrs. Frear,” 
he went on, before any one could answer, “ I’m going 
to drive in to Willford on Saturday, and I’ll do what 
errands you like. I ain’t a doubt but what you’ve 
got a lot of things ready to send in.” 

“ Yes, there will be quite a little,” Mrs. Frear 
responded, — “ some canned things that the restau- 
rant is taking, and jelly that the Hansens are going to 
sell for me.” 

“ Well, you have it ready, and I’ll come for it.” 

“ That’s awfully kind,” said Mrs. Frear. She 
turned to Marian, “ I’ve been thinking — hadn’t we 
better send by Mr. Grant, to get you some white 
shoes — those canvas pumps, you know ? ” 

“ Oh, mother! I wish I could have some.” 
Marian was radiant with pleasure. “ Would you 
just as lief get them, Mr. Grant? ” 

“ Just as lief as flyin’, girl. But you must put it 
all down on paper, so’s I’ll get the right number, and 
everything.” 

“ We’ll have it so exact that you can’t make any 
mistake,” Mrs. Frear assured him. 

The old man went away with a loud good-by from 
his wagon. Toro gave a bark of joy at being off. 

“ It’ll be lovely to have the shoes, mother,” 
Marian burst out. u I’ve wanted them so much 
nobody knows.” 


62 


Marian Frear’s Summer 


“ We’re doing a little better with the garden than 
we expected,” said the mother; “ and you might have 
some need of new shoes. Girls like that sort of 
thing.” 

“ I hate to take them, when you have so little,” 
Marian protested nervously. 

“ I have all I want. Now, wouldn’t you like to 
take this over to the Spaldings? ” She indicated a 
pail of fresh red raspberries. 

“ Is it necessary? ” asked Marian, with a dubious 
face. “ Won’t they come for it? ” 

“ They may not be here till to-morrow, and the 
berries are over-ripe, and ought to be used at once,” 
Mrs. Frear explained. “ I had to pick them to save 
them.” 

“ I believe it’s only a scheme of yours to get me 
over there, mother,” said Marian, half laughing. 
“ Honest Injun, isn’t it? ” She looked searchingly 
at her mother. 

“ Do you think I’m a scheming person? ” queried 
the lady. 

“ Sometimes I do.” 

Mrs. Frear laughed, and gave her daughter a kiss. 
“ Go on, and get ready,” she said, without com- 
mitting herself. 

Marian did not care to discuss the matter. She 
was really eager to make another trip to the myster- 
ious region of Pigeon’s Nest. She stopped and 
turned at the foot of the stairs. “ It’s mean of Carl 
Erickson, isn’t it,” she said, “ to go around saying 
things about the Spaldings ? ” 

“ I don’t remember that it was anything really dis- 
agreeable,” Mrs. Frear returned from the kitchen 


The Downpour 63 

door. “ It just gave an unpleasant impression.” 

“ That’s it. I don’t believe he can say anything 
against them that’s true. He has to take it out in 
little hints. That’s the worst way of hurting people, 
I think.” 

“ I dare say it won’t go any further,” Mrs. Frear 
answered. “ There isn’t much that the Ericksons 
can do.” 

Marian went on up stairs to dress. She came 
back in a white blouse and a well-worn blue serge 
skirt. The blouse, though of cheap material, was 
trimmed with tatting of an intricate design. An old 
cameo pin held the collar in place. 

“ Do you think it’s going to rain, mother?” 
Marian scanned the sky, where there were tumbling 
masses of white clouds edged with gray. 

“ Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Mrs. Frear was 
measuring currant-juice, and was too busy to go to 
the door. 

There was no one on the lake. Marian rowed 
steadily, thinking about the new interest which had 
come into her life. When she was considerably 
more than half way across the lake, a low growl of 
thunder startled her. She looked over her shoulder 
and saw that the western sky had become very 
threatening. Dark clouds were rolling up from the 
horizon, and the heavens would soon be overcast. 

The girl felt a pang of irritation. “ Perhaps I 
can get home before the rain really comes,” she 
thought. But she had brought no wraps, and she did 
not relish the idea of rowing home in a pelting down- 
pour. “ If they ask me, I’ll have to stay until it’s 
over,” she admitted to herself, with terror and 


64 Marian F rear’s Summer 

exultation. “ If they would only leave me with the 
books and magazines, I shouldn’t mind.” 

As she came up to the dock, she saw Agnes stand- 
ing at the top of the bank, looking at the sky. “ It’s 
going to rain cats and dogs,” she called. “ You’d 
better put your boat in the boathouse.” 

“ Oh, I’m going right back,” remonstrated 
Marian. 

“ You can’t go back,” cried Agnes scornfully. 
“ It’s going to be an awful storm.” 

“ I’m afraid so,” admitted Marian, glancing at the 
clouds. “ Is there room in the boathouse? ” 

“ Plenty.” 

Marian guided her boat into the shelter. There 
was space for two boats, but there was none to be 
seen. 

“ Did you see our boat? ” asked Agnes, as Marian 
appeared on the sloping bank. “ Harvey’s out 
in it.” 

“ No, I didn’t see it. Perhaps he’s gone to the 
Cove, after bass.” Marian felt that she would be 
less timid of the others if Harvey were at home. As 
she climbed the hill, she could see the screened porch, 
with the two tables on it, and a group of chairs. A 
slender silk ankle and high-heeled white slipper indi- 
cated that “ Aunt Elsie” was lying in the capacious 
hammock which occupied a widened space at the end 
of the porch. 

Lola Spalding sat with a magazine on her lap, 
gazing anxiously into the lowering shadows over the 
lake. She got up quickly, when she saw Marian, 
and came to the screen door. “ Oh, come in,” she 
said heartily. “ You’ve brought some more of those 


The Downpour 65 

delicious berries, haven’t you? ” She lifted the pail 
from Marian’s hand. “ Agnes, take these to the 
kitchen, that’s a good girl.” 

“ I’m the errand-boy for the family,” muttered 
. \gnes with a wry face. 

“ You can’t go back now,” said Lola, as Marian 
made a motion to go. 

“ I should think not,” came from the hammock. 
A white hand and a book came over the edge, and 
then Auntie’s golden head appeared. “Tell the 
young lady that she must stay, Lola,” said Mrs. 
Dove. 

“ I think I’ll have to,” conceded Marian. “ I 
didn’t bring any wraps. Your sister says that — 
your brother is out.” She had almost said “ Har- 
vey.” 

“ Yes, but he loves getting wet. It won’t hurt 
him,” answered Lola. 

The dark clouds had now swung overhead, and the 
air grew tense with threats. Lightning shivered 
over the lake. Rumblings came out of the west. 

“ I shouldn’t have started,” Marian reproached 
herself. “ But who would have thought it would 
blow up a storm, like this? ” 

“ I hadn’t an idea of it, either; but you never can 
tell,” consoled Lola. 

“ Agnes, shut the windows upstairs,” called Mrs. 
Dove. “ It will rain in.” 

“ That’s a good girl! ” shrieked Agnes from the 
sitting room, on her return from the kitchen. 
Nevertheless, she clumped up the stairs and noisily 
banged down the windows. 

Lola had drawn up a chair for Marian, and now 


66 


Marian Fr ear's Summer 


began to talk to her, to relieve the situation of em- 
barrassment. She wore the same simple dress which 
she had on when Marian first saw her, and a string 
of blue beads which just matched the embroidery. 
“ You and your mother live all alone, don’t you? ” 
she said. 

“ Yes, we’ve lived there at the end of the lake a 
long time — nearly as long as I can remember.” 
Marian felt a bit uncomfortable at having to talk 
about herself. 

“ It’s beautiful over there. I’ve seen it from the 
boat,” continued Lola. “ I intended to go with 
Harve on Saturday, but it rained too hard; and then 
on Monday he skipped away without asking me.” 

“ You must come over when the weather clears,” 
said Marian, responding as well as she could to the 
friendly tone of the other. 

u I’m going to. Do you get lonely over there? ” 

“ Sometimes.” Marian was brief, lest she should 
say too much. 

“ We’re glad you’re there. It helps us out — the 
vegetables and berries, you know. That sounds 
selfish, doesn’t it?” Lola laughed cheerfully. 
“ Well, it’s nice to know that other people are near, 
too. It’s a lot more neighborly — ” 

Here a crash of thunder sounded, so near that the 
two girls jumped. The rain began to come down in 
a sudden spurt. A cold wind swept across the porch, 
and the slanting rain followed. “ Oh, dear ! we’ll 
have to go inside,” Lola complained. Papers began 
to blow. A vase of flowers overturned. The three 
women scrambled to pick things up, and drag the 
chairs and benches close to the wall. Mrs. Dove, 


The Downpour 67 

slightly dishevelled, and putting hairpins back into 
her hair, had the martyred look of one whose siesta 
has been broken in upon. 

Marian fell to, and helped with rugs and cushions 
and books. In a few minutes, she found herself in 
the living-room, with her arms full of magazines. 

“ Agnes, shut the door! ” cried Mrs. Dove, as a 
furious blast of wind and rain swept full across the 
porch. There were laughter and sighs of relief, 
when the group was safely shut in. “ Gracious, how 
dark it it. I hate the lightning! ” Mrs. Dove ex- 
claimed, with her hands over her eyes. “ Agnes, 
child, light the lamp — that’s a dear! ” 

“ I’m doing it. I knew I’d be a dear,” said Agnes 
calmly. She was already taking the chimney from 
the big lamp on the table. She lighted it and put 
back the yellow shade; a mellow glow flooded the 
room. 

Marian laid her armful of magazines on the table 
and looked about. The unplastered walls were 
finished in pine. There were chintz hangings at the 
windows, and along the wall a cot-sofa held cushions 
of the same material. Some low willow chairs were 
ranged about, and a big willow basket beside the 
hearth held pine cones, twigs, and wood. Though 
Marian could not discern all the details of the room, 
she gained an idea of its simplicity, and, as it seemed 
to her, its elegance. 

The storm was now howling about the cottage, the 
rain pounding on the roof, and the thunder crashing. 
Heavy boughs of trees scraped mournfully along the 
shingles. 

Mrs. Dove took her hands from her face, 


68 


Marian Frear s Summer 


resignedly. She looked charming in a blue linen 
dress, a trifle crumpled after the lady’s nap in the 
hammock. “ I don’t believe it’s too warm to have 
a fire,” she said in her impulsive way. “ It cheers 
things up so. Oh, sit here, Miss — Miss — ” 

“ Frear — Marian Frear.” 

Mrs. Dove smiled at the shrinking girl. “ That’s 
a musical name,” she said. “ But I think of you as 
The-Girl-with-the-Thread-Lace. Oh, well, it’s tat- 
ting to-day, and lovely at that — so fine and intri- 
cate. Did you make it? ” 

“ No, my mother did. Do you think it’s pretty? ” 
Marian had thought tatting rather plain homemade 
stuff, hardly better than nothing. 

“ I never saw a daintier pattern.” Mrs. Dove 
came near, to examine it, slipping her fingers under 
the edge of the collar. Marian, thrilling at the 
touch, noted the graceful hand with a quaint dull blue 
and silver ring, and caught the scent of a faint per- 
fume. She perceived vaguely the unassuming ele- 
gance of a woman for whom life has been rich and 
easy. “ I’d like some of it,” said Mrs. Dove 
thoughtfully. 

Marian did not know whether to say that her 
mother would make some of the tatting. In her con- 
fusion she said nothing. 

Agnes was putting pine cones into the fireplace, 
and now touched them with a match. The flame 
spurted up, gold and blue. “How beautiful!” 
cried Lola. They all settled into chairs to watch the 
progress of the fire, half forgetting the uproar of the 
storm outside. 

Marian sat back gratefully in a comfortable chair, 


The Downpour 


69 


and watched the wood succumb to the flame. It was 
the first time since she was a child that she had seen 
a fire in a fireplace. 

“Don’t you love an open fire?” Lola asked 
pleasantly. 

Marian made an inarticulate noise of assent. 
She did not like to confess that open fires were not 
a part of her usual experience. 

“I can’t live without one!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Dove. “ I just won’t stay where there isn’t one! 
It seems strange to me that the Americans don’t have 
them as a matter of course. In Europe — ” 

“ Yes, in Europe,” broke in Agnes, “ the houses 
are as cold as refrigerators — Lola says so. She 
says that they don’t have any furnaces at all, and 
either they don’t have a spark of fire, or else there’s 
a handful of coal in a grate as big as a cigar-box. 
Everybody shivers all winter and goes around abso- 
lutely blue with cold. Give me a furnace, every 
time ! ” 

Then Lola had been in Europe ! This fact 
seemed marvelous to the girl who listened to the talk. 

“ Perhaps you’ve forgotten how we nearly froze 
to death in Paris, Auntie,” reminded Lola, “ and the 
time we had keeping warm in London, when we were 
waiting for Mrs. Cleaver to come, before we went to 
Cannes.” 

“ M-m,” admitted Auntie, in a subdued way, “ the 
Americans do understand how to keep warm, but 
they’re sometimes terribly lacking when it comes to 
artistic effects.” 

“ Artistic effects don’t warm your feet,” sniffed 
Agnes. 


70 


Marian Fr ear's Summer 


“ There, there, dear,” admonished Mrs. Dove 
amiably. 

“ It’s a good thing to have comfort and art, too,” 
put in Lola. “ I think there are a lot of Americans 
who are quite equal to both.” 

Marian thought of the struggle which she and her 
mother had with the cold, in the depths of winter, 
when the thermometer showed twenty and even 
thirty degrees below zero. There were stoves which 
ate greedily of their store of precious wood, and then 
barely kept the house livably warm. Sometimes she 
and her mother would have to bring a bed down into 
the living room, and cuddle into the one room, like 
rabbits in a burrow. The conversation around the 
fire frightened her. She took up a magazine, turn- 
ing the pages with a pretense of idle interest, but at 
the same time she was terrorstricken lest she should 
be expected to contribute to the discussion. 

Mrs. Dove saved her by an abrupt change of sub- 
ject. u It’s time for afternoon tea,” she said, look- 
ing at her gold wrist-watch. “ Agnes, will you tell 
Barbara that we’re ready for it? ” 

Marian was in a flutter as Agnes went obediently 
to the kitchen. Afternoon tea with these strangers 
was an event which she had not anticipated. 

Lola pulled a small table up to the fire, and spread 
a plain linen cloth, buttonholed with orange floss. 
From the dining-room she brought the blue cups 
which Marian had seen on the porch. “ Oh! ” she 
thought, “ I shall drink out of one, after all.” Then 
with an effort she said, “ They’re such pretty cups.” 
She had not said anything for so long that she was 
becoming ashamed. 


7i 


The Downpour 

“ Yes, I like this Japanese ware with the plain 
glaze,” answered Lola. “ I have a breakfast set in 
pink, for my room.” 

She brought on spoons and plates. “ We’re using 
paper napkins, to save ironing,” Mrs. Dove ex- 
plained. “ Get some out of the drawer, Agnes 
dear.” 

A colored girl carried in a tray, with teapot, 
cream, sugar, and a plate of oatmeal cookies. Mrs. 
Dove poured the tea in a business-like way. Marian 
accepted a cup, with “ cream, but no sugar, please.” 

“ I hope Harvey’s all right,” said Lola, not at all 
uneasy. 

“ He’ll take care of himself. When we came 
here, I made up my mind not to worry about him,” 
commented Mrs. Dove. 

“ Do you go to school? ” asked Agnes suddenly, 
fixing her black eyes on the stranger. “ I mean, 
during the year. This is vacation, of course.” 

“ No, n-not now,” murmured Marian, putting her 
spoon into her saucer. “ There’s no school near — ” 

“ What school did you go to, then ? ” Agnes took 
a generous bite from her oatmeal cooky, staring over 
it with unembarrassed gaze. 

“ Just the country school, over on the road, about 
a mile and a half away.” Marian tried to speak as 
if going to the country school were all that heart 
could wish. 

“ Oh-h! ” Agnes paused in surprise. 

Mrs. Dove broke in with a remark about Harvey. 
“ If he has his slicker, he’s all right. Did you notice 
whether he took it, Agnes? ” 

“ No, Auntie, I didn’t. Isn’t there any school 


72 Marian Frears Summer 

that you can get to, at all? ” persisted the girl, still 
eying the guest. 

“ Not nearer than Willford, nine miles away; 
there’s a high school there.” 

“ That is a long way,” said Lola sympathetically, 
giving Agnes a warning glance. 

“ But you’ll have to go to school somewhere , 
won’t you? ” queried Agnes imperturbably, proceed- 
ing to devour her cooky. 

Marian flushed, and almost spilled her tea. “ I 
wish I could,” she said painfully. “ But I don’t see 
how.” 

“ It’s often quite a problem to decide just what 
to do,” Mrs. Dove remarked smoothly, pouring more 
cream into her tea. “ Most people find it so ex- 

cept spoiled babies, — ” She raised her eyebrows at 
Agnes. Then she went on, “ Of course you don’t 
want to leave your mother. She must find this 
region very lonely, as it is. She’s a lady; I can see 
that.” 

“ How? ” Marian spoke in astonishment. “ She 
is — but how can you tell? ” 

“ Because of the thread lace, and the way you 
speak,” Mrs. Dove replied with a wise smile. 

“ Mother has worked so hard,” said Marian, 
speaking rapidly. “ It’s been dreadfully hard for 
her since father died. She had to take care of me 
— I was just a little thing — and there wasn’t much 
to do with. I think she’s wonderful.” This was 
not at all what the girl had intended to say. When 
one is embarrassed, one says almost anything. 

“ She’s awfully nice,” Agnes blurted out. “ I 
liked her, the first thing.” 


The Downpour 73 

“ She liked you, too,” said Marian, glad that she 
could say this truthfully. 

“ Oh, did she? ” Agnes flushed with satisfaction. 

“ Harvey thinks she’s fine,” added Lola. “ She’s 
so natural, he says.” 

Marian was thinking, “ Natural! That’s what I 
ought to be.” 

Mrs. Dove broke in suavely again. “ Do you 
think she’s worrying about you? ” 

“ No, I don’t believe so. She probably knows I’m 
under shelter somewhere.” 

“ It’s too bad there isn’t a telephone,” Lola re- 
marked. “ Father talks about putting one in, so 
that he can call us up and see how we are.” 

The rain had now begun to abate. The pounding 
on the roof had slackened, and the thunder grew 
more distant. The little group were finishing their 
tea, while the fire sank into hot red coals. 

Presently they were aware of a voice outside, sing- 
ing lustily, 

“ It is not raining rain to-day, 

It’s raining vi-o-lets! ” 

There was a long tremolo on the last word, and a 
falsetto quirk at the end. 

“ Harve,” said Agnes in a matter-of-fact tone. 

The screen door creaked, and Harvey came in, 
stamping, and shaking the rain from his felt hat and 
yellow slicker. “ Hello, folks,” he called jovially. 
“ Hooray for the fire ! 

“ It is not r-r-raining r-rain to-day,” 

he sang as he threw his coat over a chair, and his hat 
on the couch. 


74 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

“ Oh, you did have your yellow Mother Hubbard 
on,” said Agnes, turning on her willow stool. 

“ Yes, darling Ag, I had my Mother Hubbard 
under the seat of the boat,” the boy returned. 
“ How do you do, Miss Frear? When did you fly 
into Pigeon’s Nest?” 

“ Just before the storm broke,” answered Marian. 

“ Good work. Ha ! tea ! ” shouted Harvey. 
“ Saved! A sail on the horizon.” 

“ It’s cold,” said Mrs. Dove, pouring him a cup. 
“ I know you don’t like it, anyhow, so it doesn’t make 
any difference.” 

“ I like what goes with it,” returned Harvey, tak- 
ing two oatmeal cookies at once. “ It’s a wonder 
that Little Ag left any. She must have been too 
busy asking questions. Hum ! I see by the faces 
before me that me r-random thr-rust went home.” 
Pie gazed from Marian’s telltale countenance to 
Agnes’s guilty one. 

“ Harvey, do be sensible,” murmured Lola. 
“ Why, the rain has almost stopped! ” she exclaimed, 
looking out at the window. “ Let’s have the door 
open.” 

Harvey, eating cookies, threw open the door, and 
the fresh cool air rushed in. With one accord the 
group rose and went out on the porch, drawing in 
deep breaths. 

“ How the pines smell ! ” cried Mrs. Dove. “ It’s 
splendid out here in the woods, even if one does miss 
her bridge-parties.” 

“ I must be going,” said Marian, “ now that the 
storm is over.” 

The sun was beginning to break through the 


The Downpour 7$ 

clouds, and the gray tone of the lake was swiftly 
changing to blue. 

“ Don’t hurry. I’ve just come,” Harvey remon- 
strated, finishing his tea, and setting his cup down on 
the porch table. 

“ I’ve been here a long time, and mother will be 
wondering about me,” persisted Marian. 

“ Well, you’ll come again,” said Mrs. Dove. 

“ Wouldn’t you like to take some magazines 
along?” asked Lola, in an offhand way. “Father 
sends us so many that they clutter up the house.” 

“ Why-y, yes, I’d like some ever so much,” Marian 
replied, trying to speak as easily as Lola; but she 
had an exultant leap of the heart. 

Lola gathered up half a dozen, and put them into 
Marian’s hands. “ Take these along,” she said, 
smilingly, “ and when you’ve finished with them, 
there’ll be more.” 

“ Oh, thank you,” cried the departing guest, fear- 
ful lest she should overdo her gratitude, because the 
magazines meant more to her than Lola could pos- 
sibly know. She looked into the other girl’s eyes, 
and found them very clear and friendly. “ Won’t 
you come over? ” Marian asked impulsively. 

“ Yes, I’m going to, right away.” 

“ I am, too,” put in Agnes. “ I want to see your 
mother again, because I like her.” 

“ No mention of the rest of our family! ” thought 
Marian, but she spoke aloud only her polite good- 
byes. 

Harvey went down the hill with her to get out the 
boat. “ It’s fine after the rain,” he said as they 
stood at the door of the boathouse. 


76 Marian Frear’s Summer 

“ Yes, everything looks so clean. Were you 
really out in the storm? Your family didn’t seem 
worried about you.” 

“ I was over in the Cove, and I ran for that old 
hayshed that’s back there in the marsh. I was per- 
fectly all right. But I’m sorry I didn’t make a bee- 
line for home.” Harvey went in and brought out 
Marian’s boat, a shabby barque beside the Paloma. 
'He held it at the dock while she got in. “ Say,” he 
said eagerly, as she took up the oars, “ I’m glad you 
got rain-bound here.” 

“ Why? ” asked the girl, looking up at him inquir- 
ingly. 

“ Oh, so that you could get acquainted with the 
girls and Aunt Elsie.” 

“Yes, they’re awfully nice; but — ” Marian 
steadied the boat with her oars, backing out a bit 
from under a dripping Tune-berry bush. 

“ But what?” 

“ They know so much. They scare me,” the 
girl confessed, in a low voice. 

Harvey stood with his hands in his pockets. 
“ Hm, do they? ” he asked. Then after a pause, he 
said, “And don’t I?” 

“ No, hardly at all,” answered Marian. 

“ Ha ! ” chuckled the boy. “ Behold the value of 
not knowing so much ! ” 

“ I didn’t mean that,” cried Marian, getting red. 

“ I’m not so sure,” the lad teased her. “ But 
listen,” he went on, leaning over the boat, “ I’d let 
them be nice to me, if I were you.” Marian felt that 
he meant to say, “ They can help you a good deal.” 


The Downpour 77 

“ I will,” she promised, looking up at him; “ if 
they can stand it.” 

“ Don’t worry. They can.” 

Marian laughed, feeling light at heart. “ Well, 
good-bye,” she said, as she pushed the boat away 
from the dock. Harvey raised his hand to his fore- 
head in a gesture of farewell. “ And I’m glad, too, 
that I got rain-bound,” said Marian to herself. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE UNSEEN HAND 

M ARIAN laid aside the magazine which she had 
been reading. “ I’m so sleepy! ” she sighed, 
looking over at her mother, who on the other side 
of the table was reading a long sober article. “ I 
can hardly leave these magazines — they’re so in- 
teresting.” 

“ It was nice of Miss Spalding to lend them to 
you,” said Mrs. Frear absently, with her eyes still 
on the page. 

“ The Spaldings are all nice,” said Marian medita- 
tively, “ except Agnes, maybe. I’m not crazy over 
her.” She was thinking uncomfortably of the too- 
direct questions which Agnes had put to her, at the 
unexpected tea-party. 

Mrs. Frear raised her head. “ I don’t see any- 
thing wrong with Agnes,” she protested. Then she 
added, with her whimsical smile, “ We like people 
better after we’ve done something for them.” 

Marian had risen, yawning. “ I suppose that’s 
so,” she admitted. “ But I can’t imagine anything 
that I could do for Agnes Spalding.” 

“ You never know.” Mrs. Frear was deep in her 
article again, and kept on reading when Marian came 
to kiss her good-night. 

The girl went up to her room with the candle 
78 


The Unseen Hand 


79 


which served as her only light on summer evenings. 
The room was fresh and dainty, with some pieces of 
old-fashioned furniture. Marian stood in front of 
the oval mirror of her dressing table, and took down 
her hair from its hard flat arrangement. She 
thought of Lola’s soft brown hair, becomingly coiled 
and puffed. 

“ I wonder how she does it? ” Marian whispered. 
Clumsily, she tried to do her own hair in the same 
way. With nervous hands, she pulled the twisted 
locks this way and that. Her arms ached, and she 
grew red and irritated. “ I don’t seem to get it, at 
all,” she murmured. “ It’s too bad. I’m sure it 
would make me look a lot better, if I could do it.” 
She gave up in despair, blew out her candle, and went 
to stand at the window, which overlooked the 
garden. A white mist was rising from the field 
beyond, but the garden lay in dusky quietness. 
Faintly lighter spots showed where the blossoming 
verbenas stood; and fireflies flashed and wavered in 
the grass. The frogs in the meadow were croaking 
ceaselessly. Away down in the grove, next to the 
lake, an owl sounded a deep sorrowful note. 

Marian had loved these summer nights, ever since 
she could remember. “ I’d hate to leave this place,” 
she thought ruefully. “ I suppose I love it more 
than I realize, myself. It’s only the feeling that I’m 
not getting anywhere, that worries me.” As she got 
into bed, she was wondering, though she could not 
have put the thought into words, just how discon- 
tented one ought to allow himself to be, when he is 
ambitious to better himself. “ It’s too much of a 
puzzle for me,” she confessed, as she fell asleep. 


8o 


Marian Fr ear's Summer 


The next forenoon, Harvey and Lola and Agnes 
came over, with what Harvey named “ a hurry call ” 
for eggs and cream. Marian had little talk with 
them. Mrs. Frear attended to their wants, and they 
hastened away with friendly wavings and good-byes. 

“ Miss Lola is a sweet ladylike girl,” said Mrs. 
Frear approvingly. “ I hope you’ll get to be good 
friends.” 

“ Perhaps we shall.” Marian spoke with convic- 
tion. 

The day after, she looked up suddenly from weed- 
ing the cabbages, to see Lola Spalding coming up the 
path alone. “ Whoo-hoo ! ” Lola called, spying 
Marian among the greenth of the garden. She 
made her way through the little gate, and out among 
the rows of vegetables. 

Marian rose, pleased but shy. “ Did you row 
over by yourself? ” she asked, when greetings were 
finished. 

“ No, I left Harvey down at the lake, fishing for 
blue-gills. I thought I’d come up and call on you, — 
not just for things that we could snatch and gobble, 
but for the sake of being friendly.” 

“ It’s awfully nice of you,” Marian said warmly. 
“ Let’s go into the house, out of the hot sun.” Lola, 
in a freshly ironed blue-and-brown gingham, seemed 
too crisply clean for contact with the soil. 

“ No, I’m not going to take you away from your 
work. I didn’t come to interrupt. I know what it 
is to have work to do.” 

Marian could not forbear smiling incredulously. 
“ I don’t believe you; ever did any of this kind of 
work,” she said. 


The Unseen Hand 


81 


“ Not exactly. But all kinds of work are a good 
deal the same, aren’t they? I don’t see much differ- 
ence.” Lola pulled her wide straw hat forward, to 
shade her eyes, as she looked smilingly at Marian. 

“ I never thought of that; ” the other girl moved 
a little pile of weeds dubiously with her foot. 

“ Father often talks to us about such things,” Lola 
explained. “ I don’t know that I should think of 
them by myself.” 

“ Then,” said Marian, frowning, and looking 
down at her grimy hands, “ you’d think just as well 
of any one who weeded cabbages as of any one who 
painted pictures? ” 

“ Why, yes, of course,” Lola replied quickly. 
“ Cabbages are just as necessary as pictures, aren’t 
they? ” 

“ More so, in my life,” said Marian drily. 

“ Mine, too.” Lola spoke with simple humor. 
“ Now, come on, let’s finish up these old cabbages in 
about three seconds, and then we can talk.” 

Marian looked alarmed. “ Oh, no, I couldn’t 
let you do this sort of thing,” she said. “ I’ll be 
through in a few minutes. There isn’t such an awful 
lot to do.” 

“ Let me help, — please do.” 

“ No, no — your hands, your dress — ” Marian 
protested, as Lola stooped and wrenched out a sturdy 
weed. 

“ They’ll wash.” Out came another weed in 
Lola’s firm grasp. 

“ Oh, please don’t ! ” 

“ Why not? ” Lola stood up abruptly. 

“ It doesn’t seem right. You’re too pretty — too 


82 


Marian F rear's Summer 


soft, — too — I don’t know how to say it — ” 
Marian stammered. 

“ Whatever it is, I’m no such thing,” cried Lola, 
humorously indignant. “ You should see me in the 
gymnasium. I’ve taken a prize for work with the 
horizontal bar, and throwing the discus.” 

The horizontal bar and the discus were unknown 
entities to Marian, but she stared respectfully. 
“ Have you, really? ” she exclaimed. 

“ Now I think you’ll let me weed cabbages,” re- 
torted Lola, attacking the weeds again. 

“ Wait. I’ll get a bag for you to kneel on,” said 
Marian, quite subdued. She brought an old but 
clean burlap bag, and Lola tucked up her gingham 
skirt, kneeling on her petticoat ruffles. In a few 
minutes, the two girls were hard at work, giving 
short shrift to a week’s accumulation of weeds. 

For a while they labored silently, in their eager- 
ness to get their task completed. Now and then they 
stopped to wipe the sweat of honest toil from their 
faces. “ My hair is getting all straggly,” said Lola. 
A few wavy stands had blown about her temples. 

“ It looks all right,” said Marian — “ just loose, 
and not untidy.” 

Lola looked at her companion speculatively. 
“ You have pretty hair,” she said, her hands busy 
among the cabbage-stalks. “ I’ve always loved dark 
hair, and mine never gets beyond a light brown. I 
wish you’d let me do your hair for you,” she went 
on hurriedly. “ It ought to be a little looser — 
puffier, you know. You need it — your face is so 
finely cut.” 

Marian hesitated, hardly knowing whether to be 


The Unseen Hand 


83 

chagrined or not, at the remark about the way in 
which she did her hair. “ I’ve often thought it 
needed to be done differently,” she admitted. “ But 
I do it like this so that it won’t blow when I’m out 
working, or rowing on the lake.” 

“ What you need is a net,” advised Lola. “ That 
will keep it from blowing.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t think of that.” 

“ Agnes has some that you could wear, I think. 
Mine wouldn’t be the right color,” Lola responded. 
“ But will you let me do your hair to-day? ” 

“ I’d be glad to,” Marian answered. “ I tried 
to do it differently myself, but somehow I couldn’t.” 

“ It’s easier if you have some one to show you,” 
Lola encouraged her. 

They chatted on, until the work was done. “ It 
went twice as fast as usual,” said Marian, with a 
sigh of weariness, “ Aren’t you tired? ” 

“ A little. But who says I can’t weed cabbages ? ” 

“ I’d recommend you for it, anywhere.” Marian 
laughed happily. 

“ Race you to the house,” cried Lola. 

“ Race you! ” 

The two girls dashed across the garden and 
through the gate, and around to the kitchen door. 
Lola reached the goal first, panting and giggling. 
They went in and washed their hands at the sink. 
“ We’ll go up to my room,” said Marian. “ We’ll 
have to be a little careful, because mother is lying 
down upstairs.” 

As they went through the sitting-room, Lola 
stopped and stared. “Oh, what a lovely table!” 
she burst out. 


84 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

Marian looked at the old mahogany table care- 
lessly. “ Is it? Mother says it’s nice,” she com- 
mented. “ It was her mother’s.” 

“ It’s a beauty. Old French, I think,” said Lola, 
with her head on one side, as she examined the piece 
of furniture. “ Auntie will know.” 

They went up the steep narrow stairs on tiptoe, 
into Marian’s room. Fresh white curtains were 
blowing back from the two windows. There were 
strips of rag carpet on the floor. In the corner stood 
an old four-poster bed, with a white coverlet of the 
old-fashioned knotted variety. On the two other 
sides of the room were the dressing table, and a 
handsome chest of drawers with glass knobs. Ex- 
quisite order and neatness reigned. 

“ It’s a perfectly scrumptious room! ” whispered 
Lola, in fear of waking Mrs. Frear. “ Excuse me 
for remarking on your things, but I just can’t help 
it.” 

Marian looked bewildered. “ I’ve always had 
them,” she said. “ I’ve never thought much about 
them.” She was glad that Lola could find some- 
thing to admire in the little shabby house. “ But 
what I’m interested in is hair.” 

Lola turned reluctantly away from the contempla- 
tion of some quaint old pictures in gilt frames. 
“ Take it down,” she said, meaning the hair, “ and 
I’ll see what I can do as a lady’s maid. I love to 
fuss with other people’s hair.” 

Marian took down her hair, which was long and 
soft and fine, and brushed it out carefully. “ It’s 
like silk,” commented Lola. “ You ought to make 
the most of it. Now sit down, and I’ll get to work. 


The Unseen Hand 


85 

Oh — ” she leaned over the dressing-table — 
“ there’s some of that old tufted work that Auntie 
is so crazy about.” 

Marian looked absently at the old cover of the 
table, wondering why any one should be crazy about 
that sort of thing. Then she watched herself in the 
glass, while Lola skillfully separated the dark mass 
of hair into strands, and then twisted and pulled each 
strand into place, with an occasional, “ Let me see 
how that looks,” and, “ No, I think this way is bet- 
ter.” Hardly a word was exchanged between the 
two girls, until the process was complete, and Lola 
laid down the comb, saying in a satisfied tone, “ How 
do you like yourself now? ” 

The other girl took up a handglass, and examined 
the side and back of her head critically. A slow flush 
of pleasure mounted to her cheeks. She had not 
understood what a difference it would make to have 
her hair done in a really becoming way. “ It — it’s 
a terrific lot better, isn’t it? ” she faltered. 

“ It’s splendid,” cried Lola, pleased with her 
handiwork. “ You see, it’s just as simple as can be, 
but it’s softer than it was before, and higher, so that 
it makes a better outline, and frames your face bet- 
ter, too.” 

“ I see,” said Marian in a bewildered tone. “ I 
like it awfully.” 

“ Now you look like yourself,” Lola went on, pat- 
ting the other girl’s shoulder. “ It makes me happy 
to see you look so nice.” Then she added in a busi- 
ness-like way, “ Take it down, and I’ll show you how 
to do it yourself.” 

“ Oh, dear ! I don’t want to take it down, I 


86 Marian Frear's Summer 

know I’ll never be able to make it look fit to be 
seen.” Marian put her two hands over her hair as 
if to protect it. 

“ Nonsense. There’s nothing elaborate or mys- 
terious about it,” laughed Lola. “ I’ll show you so 
well that you can make it look exactly the same.” 

“ We-ell.” Marian, still somewhat incredulous 
and regretful, took down her hair again. Slowly 
and carefully Lola set about teaching her how to put 
it up. “ No, not that way,” she would say. 
“ There, feel of it, and see how the coil goes, here in 
the back. That’s fine! You’re getting it, per- 
fectly.” At last Marian succeeded in achieving the 
same result which Lola herself had accomplished. 
Glowing with pride, she took the handglass, and 
studied the effect of a half-hour’s work. 

“ I’m ever so much obliged to you for taking so 
much pains,” she said, when she laid down the glass. 
“ Oh, must you go? ” 

Lola had looked at her wrist-watch, with an excla- 
mation of dismay. “ Yes, I must. You know, I 
told Harvey I’d be back at the landing in an hour, 
and it’s a good deal more than that now.” 

“ I’m sorry you have to go,” said Marian. She 
had learned a great deal in the short space which had 
elapsed since Lola had appeared among the cabbage- 
rows. 

“ Oh, I’ll come again. And you must walk down 
to the landing with me.” 

Mrs. Frear had begun to stir about in the next 
room, and they did not need to lower their voices, 
as they clattered merrily down the stairs, and out 
at the back door. They walked down through the 


The Unseen Hand 


87 

meadow, chatting as girls do. “ I want to bring 
Auntie over to look at the table, sometime,” Lola 
was saying, “ if your mother will let her. Auntie has 
made a study of old American furniture — and other 
kinds, too — and she’s given several fine pieces to 
the museum in her home town in Illinois.” 

“ Of course, mother will love to let her see it,” 
Marian responded. “ Mother has a lot of old 
things,” she went on thoughtfully — “laces, and 
hand embroideries, and queer old jewelry, and such 
things; and some old china, too, that she keeps on 
the top shelf in her closet. I haven’t seen it for a 
long time. Perhaps it doesn’t amount to anything.” 
She was afraid of seeming to boast. 

“ Auntie will know,” Lola replied. “ She has an 
eye like an eagle’s for anything of that sort. She’d 
run a mile in a snow-storm to find some old cracked 
plate, or an old broken-down chair. If the things at 
your house please her, she’ll probably lock your 
mother in the cellar, and run off with the choicest 
treasures ! ” 

The two girls were laughing, as they pushed 
through the bushes, under the poplars and cherry 
trees. Just then they heard a whoo-hoo from the 
landing, and as they emerged upon the tiny beach 
under the bass-wood tree, they saw Harvey ap- 
proaching in the Paloma. With a greeting tossed 
over his shoulder, he pulled his boat swiftly to the 
landing, and got out to help Lola in. Marian, not 
a little self-conscious, noted that he gave her new 
manner of hair-dressing a quick approving glance. 

“ Ha ! who’s late ? ” cried Lola. “ We nearly got 
apoplexy, sprinting down here, thinking that you 


88 Marian F rear’s Summer 

would be having a fit over my tardiness, and you’ve 
hardly got here, yourself.” 

“ Oh, I’m here, all right,” Harvey answered. “ I 
gave you about twenty minutes’ leeway. I haven’t 
been a brother and a nephew for fifteen or twenty 
years, for nothing.” 

“ I think you’re mean, Harve,” protested Lola. 
“ You know I’m nearly always on time.” 

“ Always — unless you aren’t,” retorted Harvey 
gravely. “ I’ll vouch for that.” 

Marian, unused to this fraternal sparring, began 
to feel uncomfortable. “ Oh, look at the fish ! ” she 
said, peering into the boat. “ You caught a lot, 
didn’t you? ” 

“ Yes, quite a bunch; but they’re only blue-gills. 
The girls like ’em, though, when they’re fried brown, 
— I mean the fish, not the girls, are fried brown.” 

Lola was getting into the boat, assisted by 
Harvey’s brotherly hand. “ Oh, I forgot,” she said, 
looking at Marian. “ Why don’t you come over 
and go bathing with us to-morrow? ” 

Marian looked pleased. She felt a certain 
feminine assurance from the knowledge that her hair 
was right. “ I’ve often gone over there to bathe,” 
she answered. “ Your beach is the best on the lake. 
The bottom is too soft, here.” 

“ Then you’ll surely come over and swim with us,” 
Lola remarked, seating herself, and settling the folds 
of her gingham dress. 

“I — I’d like to.” Marian thought of her home- 
made bathing-suit. (“I don’t care,” she was saying 
to herself; “ I’m going to have as good a time as I 


The Unseen Hand 89 

can, anyhow.”) “ Yes, I’ll come. Thank you ever 
so much, — for everything,” she added, with a know- 
ing look at Lola. The other girl returned it with 
the freemasonry which girls very quickly set up 
among themselves. 

“ Then come over to-morrow afternoon, about 
four o’clock. That’s the time we usually go in. 
You can swim, of course? ” 

“ Oh, yes, it seems as if I always knew how,” 
Marian called. The boat had been pushed off, and 
was now moving out into the bluer water. 

“ We’re not experts at all.” Lola raised her 
voice. “ I can do a little better than Agnes. 
Harvey’s like a frog — but then, boys always are.” 

“ That’s a doubtful compliment,” put in Harvey, 
grinning at Marian, as he pulled at the oars. “ Any- 
how, we’ll expect you over to-morrow.” 

Marian smiled wistfully, hardly noticing what was 
said. Her mind was leaping forward to the next 
day, when she should renew the friendship which had 
grown so swiftly during this afternoon. 

The next afternoon, at the hour appointed, after 
a busy day, she put her bathing-suit under the seat of 
her boat, and rowed in a leisurely way across the 
stretch of waters. She found Agnes Spalding sitting 
on the dock in her bathing-suit, swinging her feet 
over the water, and feeding the minnows with 
crumbs. 

“ Shall I wait till you’ve finished? ” called Marian, 
hesitating to scare away the little fish with her oars. 

“ It doesn’t matter,” Agnes replied cheerfully. 


90 Marian Frears Summer 

“ They’ve existed quite a while without bread-crumbs 
and me. Are you going to go bathing with us?” 
she asked bluntly. 

“ Your sister asked me to,” Marian replied. She 
brought her boat in and fastened it to a post at the 
pier. Swarms of tiny minnows darkened the water, 
fleeing in haste as the boat came near them. Marian 
sat for a moment in the prow, looking at them, and 
then at the delicate sprays of purple lobelia, reflected 
in the water below the bank, and the twisted honey- 
suckle vines bearing berries touched with red. 
Above, on each side of the pier, great clusters of 
June-berries were turning black and luscious. “ You 
have a lovely place,” she sighed. 

“ But yours is, too,” said Agnes practically. “ I 
guess Lola’s waiting for you up on the porch.” 
She had begun playing with the fish again. 

Marian climbed the hill, and found Lola on the 
porch. She sprang up to open the door. “ Just 
in time ! ” she cried. 

They went up stairs to put on their suits. Marian 
dressed in a small room, with walls of planed board, 
and striped chintz hangings, somewhat faded, as if 
they had been taken from a bedroom at home. A 
white iron bedstead, a plain dark oak dresser, and a 
chair or two were the only furnishings. The girl’s 
bathing-suit was a clumsy affair, made of an old skirt 
of her mother’s. Mrs. Frear had urged Marian to 
make it herself, and the result was not artistic. She 
drew on black cotton stockings, and tied up her hair 
in a red cotton handkerchief, immensely becoming, 
if she had known it, but not like the trim little scarlet 
rubber cap which Lola wore. As she came out of 


The Unseen Hand 


9i 


the bedroom, and met Lola on the landing, Marian 
felt, for a minute, self-conscious and chagrined. 
Lola’s suit was a graceful “ bought ” one of silver- 
gray poplin, trimmed with scarlet. She looked as 
pretty as a mermaid, with her slim neck, and round 
soft arms. 

“Come on!” Lola put her arm around Ma- 
rian’s waist, and the two girls went down stairs 
to the living-room. “ Auntie ” had just come out 
of her bedroom on the ground floor. Her bathing- 
suit was of black silk, trimmed with rose-color, and 
she had dainty bathing-slippers with criss-crossed 
tapes around her ankles. Again Marian felt awk- 
ward and out of place. 

Harvey was going down the hill, singing at the 
top of his voice, 

“If you love me true, 

As I think you do, 

There is room for you 
In my bungaloo ; 

And I’ll always do 

Anything for you 

That you want me to-oo-oo ! ” 

“ Harve has the silliest collection of songs,” 
grumbled Lola. “ I don’t know where on earth he 
learns them.” 

“ They are trying,” frowned Mrs. Dove, “ but 
there’s no use in arguing with him.” 

They all went down the hill to the water, where 
Harvey and Agnes were splashing about. “ Hurry 
up, Auntie,” called Harvey. “ You said you’d row 
across the lake, while I swim.” 

“ Father won’t let him swim as far as that unless 


92 


Marian Fr ear’s Summer 


there’s a boat beside him,” Lola explained. “ I 
don’t know that it’s really necessary.” 

“ It’s better, on a long swim like that,” said 
Marian. “ Nothing ever happens, but you don’t 
know what might.” 

U I suppose so; anyway, father’s firm,” Lola re- 
plied. 

Mrs. Dove, who was a good rower, but not fond 
of exertion, got obediently into the Paloma. 
Harvey, standing in the shallow water, made a low 
ceremonious bow to his friends, and slid down, 
swimming out quickly into the deep water, followed 
by his aunt in the boat. Marian would have liked 
to swim across the lake, too. She knew she could 
do it, for she had swum just as far, with her mother 
rowing beside her. But she did not dare to suggest 
going. It would not “ look nice ” for her to leave 
the girls, and go paddling off with Harvey. 

Lola and Agnes splashed about in an amateurish 
way, taking a few strokes at a time. Marian swam 
out around a post which projected slightly above the 
surface, where the water was about fifteen feet deep. 
And then, enjoying the warmth of the water, and the 
gentle breeze which was blowing, she turned on her 
back and floated. 

“ Oh, look! ” cried Agnes. “ See what Marian 
is doing. Isn’t that splendid? ” She gazed in open- 
mouthed admiration. “ Can you tread water? ” she 
called, from the safer shallows. 

“ That’s easy,” laughe'd Marian, flopping over to 
tread water, and keeping herself up as easily as a 
lily. 

“ I think you’re a wonder,” Lola praised her, as 


The Unseen Hand 


93 


she came back to where the girls were crouched. 
“ It’s great to be able to do things as easily as that.” 

“ Harvey’s a long way out,” remarked Agnes. 
His head and arm were visible on the bright surface. 
Mrs. Dove, a little behind him, was toiling at the 
oars. “ I wish I could swim that far. You can, 
can’t you? ” Agnes turned to Marian. 

“ Oh, yes, I suppose so.” Marian spoke as in- 
differently as she could. 

“You would have liked to try,” suggested Lola. 
“ It’s too bad you didn’t.” 

“ It’s just as well for your aunt not to have to 
watch two,” Marian replied. 

Agnes had splashed farther out, by this time. 
“ I believe I could tread water, too,” she called to 
Marian. 

“ Oh, now, do be careful, Ag,” Lola admonished 
her. 

“ Ag! That makes me desperate.” Still mutter- 
ing, Agnes swam out toward the post in the water. 
Half-submerged, Lola and Marian were watching 
Harvey, shading their eyes from the slanting rays 
of the sun. The boy was swimming steadily, and 
was now more than half way across the lake. 

Presently the two girls heard a choking sound. 
Marian looked swiftly around her. “ Where’s 
Agnes?” she said hurriedly. 

“ Right here, isn’t she? ” said Lola absently. 

But Agnes was not to be seen. Marian noted 
that there was an agitation of the water near the pro- 
jecting pole; then the pole itself shook slightly. 

“Oh, Agnes, Agnes!” screamed Lola. “She’s 
down in there ! ” 


94 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

“ She can’t be,” answered Marian breathlessly, 
“ or she’d come up.” 

Lola began to shriek, “ Oh, Marian, can’t you help 
her? ” 

Marian made a dash for the deep water around 
the post, and swam rapidly to it. Looking down, 
she could see a dark form near the base of the post, 
in the muddied water. She heard Lola calling, 
“Oh, Harvey! Auntie! Come, come, come!” 
There were answering cries from across the lake. 

Marian dived, and clung to the pole. She dis- 
covered that Agnes was caught and held, deep under 
water. Frantically, the older girl let herself down, 
treading water. Agnes reached for her, despair- 
ingly. Marian tried to shake her oil, and to get 
hold of her clothing, but the groping fingers closed 
hard upon her arm. Fighting and struggling to free 
herself, and to keep her balance under water, she 
reached down, and tried to tear the folds of Agnes’s 
bathing-suit from the spike on which it had caught. 
She could not disentangle it. With a terrific effort, 
she tore the girl’s clinging hands away, and rose to 
the surface for air. Amid the gurgle of water in her 
ears, she heard Lola’s piteous cry, and a loud halloo. 
Then she went down to her task again. 

Agnes clutched at her, but her struggles had grown 
feebler. An overwhelming fear made Marian 
numb. With a superhuman wrench at the heavy 
cloth, she tore the folds away, and sprang to the 
surface, pulling Agnes with her. Holding to the 
post with one hand, she turned Agnes around, so that 
she could see the girl’s white face. Marian was 
gasping and panting, for her endeavors under water 


The Unseen Hand 


95 


had been almost more than she could bear. While 
she clung there, too weary to move, she heard the 
frantic creak of oars, and Harvey’s tense cry, “ Com- 
ing, coming! ” 

Before the half-width of the lake had been covered 
by the boat, Marian had dragged the fainting girl 
across the space between the post and the dock. 
Lola, the tears running down her face, helped to lay 
her sister upon the warm boards of the pier. 

“ Turn her over,” whispered Marian hoarsely. 
“ And roll her back and forth.” Lola and Marian, 
their hands trembling with suspense, manipulated 
the solid little body of the rescued sister. Agnes 
stirred, sputtered, and drew a long breath. “ She’s 
all right,” said Marian, standing to her waist in 
water. Her cap had fallen from her head, and her 
long dark hair lay close against her cheek and 
shoulder. She was aware that the Palonta was ap- 
proaching, with Harvey at the oars. 

“What is it? What is it? Is Agnes drowned? ” 
Mrs. Dove was wailing. 

“No, no, no!” shouted Marian, getting her 
breath. “ She’s alive, and perfectly well.” 

By the time the Paloma bumped at the dock, 
Agnes was sitting up, blinking and panting. “I — 
I’m all right,” she said jerkily. “ Just went under 
a minute — couldn’t get loose.” 

“ You darling girl! what is the matter? ” Mrs. 
Dove was out of the boat, and hugging the dripping 
Agnes. 

“Agnes, Agnes, dear! are you hurt?” Harvey 
was clasping his sister’s shoulders, and trying to look 
into her face. 


96 Marian F rear’s Summer 

“ I’m all right, Harve.” Agnes tried to smile. 

“ M-Marian saved her. I couldn’t do a thing,” 
blubbered Lola. 

“ What in the world was the trouble? ” demanded 
Mrs. Dove. 

“ Her bathing-suit caught on something — a nail, 
I think, on that post out there,” Marian explained. 

“ I shouldn’t have gone and left you,” Harvey 
was repeating, in a tone of self-reproach. “ I should 
have been looking after you. What kind of a 
brother am I, anyway? ” 

“ Oh, Harve, you weren’t to blame,” protested 
Agnes wanly. “ You didn’t know. Nobody 
knew.” 

Mrs. Dove was reaching out her hand to Marian, 
over Agnes’s head. “You blessed girl! ” she said 
brokenly. 

Marian was regaining her strength and composure. 
“ It wasn’t anything much,” she murmured. u I 
mean, any one would have done that.” 

Harvey swam over to the post, to find out what 
had caused the trouble. “ There’s a big spike stick- 
ing out of the wood, nearly as far down as the bot- 
tom of the lake,” he said when he came back. “ I 
don’t see how in time you happened to get hung up 
on it, Aggie.” 

“ Nobody but me could,” replied Agnes with un- 
wonted humility. 

The others laughed, glad to relieve the tension of 
the last few minutes. 

“ No more swimming to-day,” said Mrs. Dove, 
with a glance at the faces around her. “ I’m so 
nervous, I couldn’t bear to see one of you bouncing 


The Unseen Hand 


97 

in the water. Come, Agnes, that’s a dear! Come 
on up and get dressed. Do you feel able to climb 
the hill, sweetheart? ” 

“ I’ll see.” Agnes got stiffly to her feet. “ Why, 
I’m all right,” she exclaimed in surprise. “ I don’t 
feel hurt a bit.” 

“ Take it slowly,” warned Marian. “ Don’t get 
out of breath.” 

“ A step at a time, sister,” said Harvey. “ Now, 
take hold of my arm. I’ll help you.” 

“Fudge! I’m not an old lady,” cried Sister, 
crossly. 

“ Oh, do it just to please me,” Harvey coaxed, 
putting his hand under her elbow. “ One, two, 
three! Now we start! ” 

The others clambered up the hill, Agnes and 
Harvey ascending more slowly. As Marian reached 
the top, she felt Mrs. Dove’s arm around her. 
“ You good girl,” said the lady impulsively, “ we 
can never thank you — never ! ” 

Rescuing Agnes had seemed such a natural thing 
to do that Marian could only stammer, “ Don’t try. 
Of course, I wanted to do it. Anybody would,” she 
repeatedly lamely. 

“ Not everybody could.” To Marian’s relief, 
Mrs. Dove did not say any more. 

Without many words, the group scattered to dress. 
Putting her clothes on, in the chintz-hung bedroom, 
Marian exulted in the thought that she had not given 
up. No one knew what a struggle she had had, 
there in the water, with the drowning girl clutching 
at her, and fear weighing her down. She dressed 
slowly, for she felt heavy and weary. Through the 


98 Marian F rear’s Summer 

thin partitions, she could hear what was going on in 
the rest of the house. Down stairs, in her own bed- 
room, Mrs. Dove was insisting on Agnes’s resting in 
bed for a while. 

“ Well, then, just fifteen minutes,” Agnes con- 
sented. “ But I’m all right, Auntie, I keep telling 
you — ” 

“ Agnes, do as your aunt asks you,” came 
Harvey’s voice from another quarter of the upper 
story. “ That’s a good girl.” 

Agnes sighed loudly. “ All right, Harve,” she 
called, in the tone of a martyr. 

Presently all but the rescued heroine had gathered 
in the sitting-room. Barbara, the maid, with eyes 
rolling in her excitement over the late adventure, 
brought in the tray for tea. “ I’m glad I made 
some o’ them there cakes Miss Agnes likes best,” 
she said in an awed tone, as if Agnes were somehow 
dead and yet living. “ Law, Miss Elsie, ain’t that 
awful, her gettin’ ketched down under the water 
like that?” 

“ Oh, she’s all right now, Barbara,” said Lola 
cheerfully, setting out the tea things. 

“ Seems like they was just some unseen hand, 
a-reachin’ up and ketchin’ her, and holdin’ her down 
— don’t it, Miss Lola?” The maid’s eyes grew 
rounded at the horror of her own idea. 

“ Nonsense! It was a big nail,” answered Lola 
in as matter-of-fact a tone as she could command. 
“ Her bathing-suit caught on it.” 

Barbara shivered ostentatiously as she turned 
away. Lola laughed, Harvey looked disgusted, and 
Mrs. Dove gave her attention to the teapot. 


The Unseen Hand 


99 

“ Want a cup o’ tea, Ag? ” called Harvey to the 
girl in Auntie’s bed. 

“ Yes, I do, and don’t call me Ag,” was the lusty 
reply from the unwilling invalid. “ And put plenty 
of sugar in, Harve dear! ” 

“ Sure, Mike,” called Harvey, dropping three 
lumps into the cup which Mrs. Dove handed him. 

“ Bring more than one cake,” shouted the captive. 

“ Lie still and don’t shriek,” admonished Mrs. 
Dove nervously. “ Harvey’s bringing you every- 
thing.” 

Marian was glad that the Spaldings did not seem 
to expect her to talk. She felt better after sitting 
quietly and sipping her tea. Mrs. Dove went into 
the bedroom to expostulate with Agnes, and Marian 
took the opportunity to rise and say that she must go. 

“ I know you’re anxious to get home. It’s been 
a good deal of a strain,” said Lola. Then, quite un- 
expectedly, she kissed Marian on the cheek. Tears 
sprang to Marian’s eyes; and Harvey looked away. 

The boy went down with her to the dock, and un- 
fastened her boat, holding to the rope while she got 
in and settled herself. “ Are you too tired to 
row?” he asked gravely. “If you are, I’ll row 
over, and we can tow the Paloma.” 

“Oh, no! I’m perfectly all right,” Marian re- 
sponded hastily. She really wanted to be alone. 
He looked at her searchingly to see whether she 
meant what she said. Her hair was still wet and 
shining; her eyes were dark and shy. 

“ I can’t tell you how I — how we — feel, about 
what you did,” he stammered. All his jaunty ease 
was gone. 


IOO Marian F rear’s Summer 

“ I don’t want to be told.” Marian was staring 
at the water. “ You took some trouble to save the 
marsh-hen that was caught in the vine, — and you 
didn’t want to be praised for it.” 

“ You’ve got the idea,” smiled Harvey. “ Nuff 
said.” He stood watching her as she rowed away. 

Marian did not tell her mother of her adventure. 
She felt that she would rather wait until she felt 
calmer about it herself. She went up to her room 
and rested and dried her hair more thoroughly than 
she had had a chance to do. 

While Marian was putting up her hair, Mrs. Frear 
came into the room with a box. “ Mr. Grant 
brought your shoes,” she said. “ Did you have a 
good time with the Spaldings? ” 

“Yes, a fine time! Oh, Mother, supposing they 
shouldn’t fit.” Marian put in the last hairpin, and 
turned a worried face to her mother. 

“ They’re sure to fit,” prophesied Mrs. Frear. 
“ You gave him the number, and everything.” 

“ Yes, I know. But it’s so important that they 
should fit, Mummy dear.” The girl was fumbling 
in a drawer for a pair of white stockings, and Mrs. 
Frear was untying the string on the parcel. When 
at last Marian slipped her foot into the slender 
white pump, she found that all was well, and that 
the fit was perfect. Tired as she was, she spun 
about on tiptoe, rejoicing in this “ genteel ” addition 
to her wardrobe. She opened the tin box of 
“ Blanco ” for cleaning the shoes, and sniffed at the 
paste. “ Now I can look like a real person,” she ex- 
claimed. Lola wore white shoes most of the time, 


The Unseen Hand ioi 

and Marian had seen them, freshly cleaned, sitting 
on a sunny edge of the porch, to dry. 

“ I’m so glad you like them.” Mrs. Frear looked 
relieved, for she knew the tragedy of ill-fitting shoes, 
when one was too far away from town to exchange. 

“ Mother,” said Marian meditatively, studying 
the tips of the pumps. 

“What?” 

“I’ve thought and thought — do you suppose I 
could go to Willford to school next winter? ” 

Mrs. Frear looked surprised. “ Why, yes, dear, 
probably you could, if you were willing to believe it 
— and would go alone.” 

“ I won’t go alone,” answered Marian. “ I 
mean, could we go to Willford, and could I go to 
school? ” 

Mrs. Frear’s face was dubious. “ Just what did 
you have in mind? ” she asked. 

“ Well, I thought we might take a room or two, 
and live there together. We have to eat, wherever 
we are. And the wood costs so much, and the feed 
for the cow and the chickens; if we used that money 
to pay rent for the rooms, — ” Marian hesitated, 
lest her scheme should be too wild. 

“ That’s a possibility,” admitted the older lady. 
“ But how about harvesting things in the fall, and 
getting the seeds in, in the spring — and my jam and 
catsup that I have such a good sale for? You see, 
we can’t cut off our income.” 

“ I know. But maybe there would be some way,” 
quavered Marian desperately. 

“ I could stay here alone until things were finished 


102 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

in the fall, and come back again in the spring — ” 
Mrs. Frear suggested. 

“ No, no! I couldn’t have you here alone. I 
couldn’t study. I couldn’t do anything.” 

“ Maybe I could get Ella Erickson to stay with 
me for her board.” 

“ She’s only ten; and she’d be in school all day,” 
Marian objected; “and it would be one more to 
feed.” The girl sighed, still staring at the new 
white shoes. “ Mother, there must be some way of 
working it out, so that I could learn and you could 
be with me.” 

Mrs. Frear regarded her daughter earnestly, glad 
to see her mood of determination and hope. 
“ Probably there is,” she agreed. “ I suppose we’ve 
accepted the cant’s too long. “ Now we ought to 
be looking at the cans.” 

“ I think so, too, mother,” Marian began to take 
off the new shoes and the white stockings. “ Pm 
going to continue to think and think.” 


CHAPTER VII 

UNDER THE PINE TREES 

/~\N Monday morning at breakfast, between the 
oatmeal and the scrambled eggs, Marian told 
her mother about her adventure with Agnes Spalding, 
under water. 

Her mother’s hand was unsteady as she set down 
the dish of eggs, without helping herself. “ Oh, 
Marian! ” was all she said. She sat looking at her 
daughter absently, as if she were visualizing some- 
thing dreadful. Then commanding herself she 
asked, “ Was it very bad — for you, I mean? ” 

“ It was, rather,” answered Marian. “ I thought 
once or twice that I couldn’t manage it — for either 
of us. But it came out all right,” she added. 
“ Mother, take some of the egg. The toast is get- 
ting cold. Mrs. Dove was nice to me — and Lola 
kissed me. That was worth something, wasn’t it? ” 

“ A good deal.” 

Breakfast went on in silence, and the two women 
soon sought their own tasks. Marian had the in- 
door work to-day, while her mother attended to the 
chickens, and picked the last of the strawberries — 
the belated ripening, after rain and sun. 

Marian washed the dishes, cleaned the cupboards, 
swept, and then washed out her few blouses and bits 
of lace, a white petticoat and a camisole. While she 
103 


104 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

worked, she thought about “ nice clothes,” and how 
it would seem to have them. For all her house- 
wifely skill, Mrs, Frear was indifferent to clothes, 
and had not much knack of making a little show off 
for more than it was, or for imparting a modish turn 
to a dull bit of goods. “If mother—” thought 
Marian; but she checked herself. “ Mother is a 
marvel, as it is,” she murmured, “ and I don’t know 
why I should expect more of her.” She found her- 
self singing, as she rinsed and blued. “ Some day, 
some day, I’ll have all the pretty things I want,” she 
chanted. “ Some time, some time ! ” 

She went out into the sunshine to hang up the 
clothes. Her mother’s faded blouse and sunbonnet 
were visible over the bushes in the far corner of the 
garden. Affixing a clothespin, Marian heard a 
whoop. Turning, she saw “ Aunt Elsie ” and 
Harvey Spalding coming up the path from the lake. 
Mrs. Dove was holding up her blue linen skirt, above 
a frilled petticoat. Under a hat with a black scarf, 
her blond hair gleamed in the sun. She wore a coral 
velvet bow at the V of her bodice. In a hand loosely 
gloved with white, she held a basket suggestive of 
marketing. 

“ Hello! Aren’t you afraid a blackbird will snip 
off your nose? ” called Harvey. 

“ I hope not, for I haven’t much to lose,” retorted 
the girl pertly. She was sometimes remarkably at 
her ease with Harvey. 

“ It wouldn’t be a bad thing if blackbirds snipped 
off saucy boys’ tongues,” said Mrs. Dove with mock 
severity. 

“ I haven’t any to lose, either,” said the lad as 


Under the Pine Trees 


105 

they came closer. “ But I’m glad I have enough 
to tell our good news with.” 

“ What is it? ” queried Marian, dropping her bag 
of clothespins. 

“ Father’s coming — this afternoon, late.” The 
young man glowed. “ We just got the letter.” 
The Spaldings had a “ Rural Delivery ” box on the 
road a quarter of a mile beyond their cottage. 

u Oh, that’s splendid,” Marian cried, properly 
impressed. 

“ Don’t imagine that it’s his father only, that he’s 
so pleased about,” Mrs. Dove said teasingly. “ It’s 
really something else.” 

“ It is father, too,” Harvey defended himself; 
“ but the fact that he’s bringing a car with him 
doesn’t make him any the less welcome.” 

“Oh — you mean an automobile?” asked 
Marian. 

“ Yes, he’ll hire one to drive out with, and keep 
it a few days. He’ll give us a good spin while he’s 
here.” 

Mrs. Frear was now making her way toward the 
visitors. Mrs. Dove set down her basket, and took 
the other woman’s hand. “ This girl of yours did 
us a good turn on Saturday,” she said in her impet- 
uous way. “ We never can thank her, of course.” 

“ I’m glad she was able to rise to the occasion,” 
said Mrs. Frear quietly. 

“ This time she had to sink to the occasion,” said 
Harvey, sotto voce, grinning at Marian. The two 
older women did not hear this frivolous remark, but 
were going on with their conversation about Agnes’s 
narrow escape. 


io6 Marian Frear s Summer 

“Won’t you come into the house?” asked Mrs. 
Frear, after a minute. 

“ No, I love it out here. I’ll sit on the chopping- 
block.” Mrs. Dove sat down and spread her skirts 
about her. Mrs. Frear found a seat on a little pile 
of wood. “ Harvey, run on and get the things for 
the stew,” commanded “Auntie”; then, turning to 
her hostess, “ We’re going to have a real old- 
fashioned Irish stew for lunch. The meat is cook- 
ing, and Barbara wants the vegetables. We could 
have got on, but we didn’t have an onion — not an 
onion. What’s an Irish stew without ‘ the third in- 
gredient ’ ? ” 

Harvey and Marian went to pull the onions and 
carrots. “ You’ll like father,” said the boy. “ I 
guess you’ve heard his praises sung often enough. 
He’s one of those people who are quiet and don’t 
put themselves in the lime-light, and you don’t always 
know how fine they are until you’ve seen ’em quite a 
lot.” 

“ That’s the best kind,” said Marian. “ How is 
Agnes to-day? ” 

“ Gay as a cricket; her experience in the water 
didn’t hurt her a bit. How are you?” 

“I? Oh, I’m all right — perfectly,” answered 
Marian, surprised that any one should ask. 

“ You had a kind of a hard time, though, didn’t 
you? ” asked the lad, his hands full of onions. 

Marian bent over the row of green blades. “ It 
was hard for a minute or two,” she admitted. “ Do 
you think this will be enough? Your aunt is in 
a hurry to get things to cooking. Stew needs to be 
cooked a long time.” 


Under the Pine Trees 107 

11 It wasn’t the stew that she was so interested in,” 
Harvey replied; “ she wanted to meet your mother, 
and say thank you.” 

“ Oh.” Marian thought that quite enough had 
been said about her life-saving adventure. 

“ This will be enough for the present,” Harvey 
remarked. “ Oh, say, why don’t you come back 
with us? The lake is glorious this morning.” 

“ Maybe I could,” Marian said, considering the 
day’s tasks. “ I couldn’t stay very long.” 

“ You’ll enjoy being on the lake. It’s like glass,” 
exulted Harvey. “ Come on.” 

They went back to where Mrs. Frear and Mrs. 
Dove were still talking. The arrangement was 
quickly made, and Marian hurried with the others 
down to the landing. She and Harvey rowed, while 
Mrs. Dove sat in the stern, towing Marian’s boat. 

“Won’t you stay to lunch?” asked Mrs. Dove, 
when they reached the Spaldings’ pier. 

“ No, thank you,” said Marian. “ I must get 
back.” 

Agnes came bounding up to them, as they neared 
the porch. “ Here, dear,” said Mrs. Dove, “ take 
these things to Barbara, that’s a — well, take them, 
anyway. Tell her we brought them as soon as we 
could.” 

Agnes took the basket, but hesitated, putting her 
hand on Marian’s arm, with a quick grateful look. 
“ It’s nice that you came,” she said. Marian felt 
the warmth of the younger girl’s tone, and liked 
Agnes better than she had liked her before. 
“ Lola’s out gathering pine cones,” the girl went on. 
“ She wants some perfectly grand fires in the fire- 


108 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

place, when father comes, if the weather is cool 
enough; and Barbara’s making a cake a yard high, 
with marshmallow filling — that’s father’s favorite.” 

Marian went out to the hillside, where she could 
see Lola’s rose-colored smock under the dark pine 
boughs. “ May I help you weed your cabbages? ” 
she asked as she came near. 

“ I should say! ” laughed Lola. “ But you’ll get 
your hands all pitch.” 

“ Kerosene takes it off,” the other replied. 

“ So we discovered. Your hair looks lovely this 
morning.” Lola gazed critically at the result of her 
instructions. 

“ I did the best I could with it.” Marian knelt 
on the slippery brown pine needles, and began to pick 
up cones, putting them into the large basket which 
Lola had brought out. “ How nice the pine smells, 
with the sun shining on it.” 

“ I love it. It makes me think of mother,” Lola 
replied. 

“ Did she — like it, too ? ” 

Lola was on her knees beside the basket. “ Once 
she and I were up in Northern Wisconsin, in the pine 
woods,” she explained. “ Father thought it might 
be good for her health. I was only eleven, but I 
went along to keep her company. We stayed at a 
little hotel on a lake. It was sort of lonesome, and 
she and I used to sit out on the rocks in the after- 
noon, and read and talk. The smell of the pines was 
like this — strong and sweet.” Marian, not know- 
ing what to say, kept silent. “ That was the last 
summer she — stayed with us,” Lola went on in a 
low voice. She was crouching on the hillside, and 


Under the Pine Trees 109 * 

looking out through the low lacy branches, at the 
lake. 

“I — I’m so sorry,” began Marian, whose words 
of consolation were few. 

“ She was such a dear,” Lola was saying — “ so 
happy always, and so — honest } if you know what I 
mean. She always told us that we need never be 
afraid of the truth. I’m so thankful that she gave 
us all a good start — showed us that we must like 
people, and not think we were better than others, 
and not judge too harshly. Not that we live up to 
her teaching, by any means,” she added hastily. 
“ We squabble like fury, and we say awfully mean 
things sometimes. But we do try, anyway, and 
that’s something.” 

The two girls had stopped picking up the cones, 
and Lola was digging into the ground with a twig. 
“ She must have been splendid,” stammered Marian. 

“ She was. She was so interested in women,” 
Lola began again. “ I hope you don’t mind — I 
like to talk about her.” Marian shook her head. 
“ She used to say that women ought to stand by each 
other better. I was such a youngster that I didn’t 
understand, but I suppose I’ll see more of what she 
meant, as time goes on. She said that women were 
often unkind to one another, — that they were the 
ones who made the hard and fast rules of society 
— caste, and all that — and tried to make some 
people think they weren’t as good as others; I mean, 
for other reasons than behavior — money or rela- 
tives, or something like that.” 

“ That’s so unfair,” exclaimed Marian hotly. 

“ Yes, it is. I remember mother’s saying that 


no Marian Frear's Summer 

women did those things through fear — they thought 
somebody might get something away from them, if 
they didn’t hang on tight.” 

“ It’s foolish when you think of it, isn’t it? ” said 
Marian meditatively. 

“ It surely is.” Lola began to pick up the cones 
again. “ I hope I’ll never get to be like that.” 

“ I don’t think there’s any danger. Do you 
know,” said Marian confidentially, “ I was awfully 
scared for fear you people were going to be uppish. 
I guess it was because I’d have been so disappointed 
if you had been. I was just aching to know some 
young people.” 

“ It’s hard to tell what people are going to be 
like,” ruminated Lola. u Now, that Carl Erickson 
that hauled our things told us that the folks around 
here were mostly Danes. And he said ” — she 
hesitated, smiling — “ that you and your mother were 
4 queer.’ We were awfully surprised when we 
found that you weren’t.” 

Marian grew red. “ I suppose we do seem queer 
to him,” she said. “ And he told a man I know 
that you were loud and ill-mannered, and that you 
made fun of people behind their backs.” 

“ How silly! ” cried Lola indignantly. “ I hope 
you didn’t believe it.” 

“ No, we knew it wasn’t so, after we’d seen you 
once or twice.” 

By this time the girls had curled up comfortably 
on the sloping bank, with their feet under them. 
“ We try to behave ourselves,” said Lola. 
“ Harvey goes around singing and shouting a good 


Under the Pine Trees 


in 


deal, but he’s a nice brother. We think he’s all 
right, — though he has his faults, too.” 

“ I hadn’t noticed them,” said Marian politely. 

“ Probably not, at this stage. But he does leave 
his things around, just terribly — strews them all 
over the house. Isn’t it odd how he can be so fussy 
to have everything just right in a laboratory, and 
then string his belongings around anyhow, at 
home? ” 

“ It is funny,” admitted Marian. “ I suppose 
boys are like that.” 

“ Well, Harvey’s the oldest,” Lola continued, 
“ and mother babied him — especially after she 
thought she was — leaving us ; and he got careless 
during the time we had the housekeepers; and Aunt 
Elsie lets him do just about as he pleases, anyhow. 
I often tell her that he’s her pet. She’s easy-going, 
and hates fusses and squabbles.” 

“ I don’t blame her,” commented Marian, who, 
having no brothers and sisters, was vaguely troubled 
at the idea of a home where “ fusses and squabbles ” 
could take place. 

“ Oh, well,” retorted her companion, “ you’ve 
always been the only child, and you couldn’t very 
well quarrel with a lady like your mother; but if you 
had to hold your own in a family of brothers and 
sisters, and not get run over and trampled out of 
sight, you’d see things differently. You’re as sen- 
sitive as any human being can be — ” 

“ Am I? ” Marian looked astonished. “ Oh, I 
suppose I am. I’m sorry. I’m going to grow a 
skin that can’t get hurt.” 


1 12 Marian Frear's Summer 

“ You’d have to, if you had a brother irritating 
you and teasing you, and a sister telling you painful 
truths. Even so, you’d probably have a wrangle or 
two with ’em in the meantime.” 

“ Of course you’re right,” sighed Marian; “ but I 
shouldn’t enjoy it, all the same.” 

“ No, one doesn’t. After you’ve had a ‘ spat,’ and 
got over it, you wonder what it was all about. It 
always seems silly — especially of the other person 
— to get peeved over something so insignificant.” 

“ I can see — ‘ especially the other person,’ ” 
Marian laughed. “ I’ve had enough to do with 
youngsters at school to know that. And I have as 
bad a temper as any one, only I don’t get it stirred up 
so often.” 

Lola looked at her thoughtfully. “ I can see that 
you have the ‘ poetic temperament,’ as Auntie says.” 

“ I’m not sure that I know what that is,” Marian 
faltered. 

“ It’s having such a sensitive soul that you think 
you’re a blighted being, if things go wrong. Now 
you’ve often thought yourself a blighted being, 
haven’t you? ” Lola spoke half seriously and half 
teasingly. 

Marian did not know whether to be hurt or not. 
Then she met the twinkle in Lola’s eyes, and began 
to laugh. “ Yes, of course I have — lots of times,” 
she assented. “ And more this summer than ever 
before — until you came.” 

“ Not since, I suppose? ” 

“ A little. But it’s been so much better — except 
that I was so awkward and scared at first. Before 
you came, I was so lonesome for girls, and so afraid 


Under the Pine Trees 113 

of not knowing anybody — ever — or getting any- 
where. It will never be quite so bad again — and 
you’ll come back? ” 

“ Oh, of course ! ” exclaimed Lola. “ We’re com- 
ing back every summer.” 

“ Every summer ! I wonder if I’ll be here — for- 
ever?” queried Marian, speaking to herself. 

“ I hope so. I mean, I hope you’ll be here in the 
summer when we’re here. But I hope you’ll go away 
during the winter, if you want to so awfully much.” 

“ I do.” After a pause, Marian said in a low 
voice, “ How would you like staying here all winter, 
with the snow three feet deep, and the storms howl- 
ing round the house, and the thermometer down to 
twenty below zero, and nobody in sight for days? ” 

“ I — I — ” Lola gasped and stammered, looking 
a bit frightened. 

“ And you’d have to plow your way through the 
snow, to get out and feed the chickens and milk the 
cow and bring in the wood; and you’d have to keep 
stuffing the stove all day, just to keep the house pass- 
ably warm — ” 

“ It would be rather awful,” murmured Lola, play- 
ing nervously with a spray of green pine needles. 

“ It is,” said Marian grimly. Then she changed 
her tone. “But there’s another side to it. It’s 
beautifully cozy and quiet, with just your mother and 
you — ” 

“My mother and me,” whispered Lola. 

“ I mean my mother and me. The room is warm, 
and there’s the smell of baking; and pussy sits under 
the stove with her toes tucked in; and there’s lace- 
work on the windows, and you can see the long 


1 14 Marian Frear’s Summer 

bluish lake, with the dark trees — oh, I can’t make 
you feel it, — there’s no use.” 

“ Oh, yes, you can. It’s beautiful,” said Lola 
slowly. “ I can’t see why that isn’t just as good as 
a lot of people, and the everlasting running in and 
out that one has in town.” 

The girls paused, contemplating the problem 
which older people have found perplexing — how to 
conform one’s life to a happy medium, with enough 
companionship, and not too much. 

“ I guess it’s just as you look at it,” ventured 
Marian. 

“ Harvey says he gets tired of the doorbell and 
the telephone, and the yip-yapping of a lot of girls,” 
smiled Lola. “When Agnes and I get to — well, 
arguing, he always says in a loud tone, ‘ Oh, for a 
lodge in a garden of cucumbers ! ’ I don’t see any 
sense in that.” 

“ It’s in the Bible, I think,” said Marian, wrinkling 
her forehead. 

“ Is it? ” Lola stared. “ Then I don’t see how 
he got hold of it. Cucumbers! I can’t see what 
they would be in the Bible for.” 

“ Me, either,” confessed Marian cheerfully. 
“ But doesn’t Harvey bring in a lot of boys to yip- 
yap, too? ” 

“ Oh, yes, but they shut themselves up in his room 
to perform some experiment, or talk about football, 
or — I don’t know what they do find to talk about. 
You’d think they’d get it all said, after a while, 
wouldn’t you? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” evaded Marian. “ It must 
keep your aunt quite busy, looking after all of you.” 


Under the Pine Trees 115 

“Yes, it does, really. Auntie thinks it’s rather 
a hardship to have to hang around and keep an eye 
on us. She has a friend who wants her to go to 
Morocco with her.” 

“Morocco?” Marian wondered why any one 
should be consumed with a desire to go there. 

“ She loves to travel, and of course lately she 
hasn’t had much chance. It is a little hard on her. 
People think sometimes that Auntie is frivolous be- 
cause her hair is light and fluffy, and because she 
loves high-heeled shoes and bright colors,” Lola ran 
on, “ but she’s just as nice and simple as she can be, 
down in her heart. We’re all awfully fond of her.” 

“ I should think you would be,” Marian agreed. 
“We aren’t getting on very fast with the pine cones, 
are we? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no ! ” Lola began to pick up cones. 
“ I wanted a lot, to make a lovely fire for the Best- 
Father-in-the-World.” 

“ Well, we’ll hurry.” Marian was scrambling 
about on the slippery bank, and reaching for the fat 
pitchy cones. 

“ And we have had a good old talk, haven’t we? ” 
Lola queried, hard at work. 

“ Just fine.” Marian looked her happiness at the 
progress which their friendship had made. 

“ And I want you to meet father as soon as pos- 
sible, after he comes,” Lola remarked, shifting the 
basket to a new area of cones. 

The next afternoon, Marian was rowing home 
from the mouth of the creek, where she had gone to 
get some water-cress. She saw the Paloma on the 


1 1 6 Marian Frear’ s Summer 

other side of the lake, and heard a whoop of greet- 
ing. After a moment, she realized that the boat 
was coming toward her, and that she was expected 
to meet it. She turned the prow of her boat to- 
ward the Paloma > glancing over her shoulder now 
and then at the familiar forms and one which was 
unfamiliar. “ It’s Mr. Spalding,” she said to her- 
self in trepidation. 

The boats were now nearing each other, and 
Harvey called out, “We want you and father to 
meet.” 

With nervous motions, Marian brought her boat 
alongside the other. In the Paloma } with Harvey 
and Lola and Agnes, sat a man of forty-five or -six, 
with dark eyes, and smooth-shaven face. “ Agnes 
looks more like him than the others,” Marian 
thought, as her eyes met his. He was dressed as 
for an outing, in gray flannel shirt, khaki trousers, 
and canvas puttees. In the bottom of the boat were 
fishpoles, a bait-pail, and a tackle-box. 

“Father, this is Marian Frear; Marian Frear, 
this is father,” said Lola in a free and easy way. 

“ How do you do? ” Marian hardly dared raise 
her eyes to this strange man, so different from the 
men who lived in that part of the world. 

“ I’m glad to meet you, Miss Frear,” he said 
heartily, reaching a strong hand over the edge of the 
boat. “ I’ve heard all about you.” 

As she put her hand into Mr. Spalding’s, Marian 
wondered what the three young people had been 
saying about her, but she felt comforted with the 
assurance that it could not be anything very bad. 
“ You’ve helped my flock to get something to eat,” 


Under the Pine Trees 117 

Mr. Spalding was going on, “ and tremendously 
good things, too. I don’t know what they would 
have done if it hadn’t been for you — in more ways 
than one.” 

“ I’m glad we can let them have the things,” said 
Marian. It did not occur to her until afterward 
that “ in more ways than one ” referred to what she 
had done for Agnes. 

“ Father just loves it here,” Agnes piped joyously. 

“ I’m very much taken with it,” assented Mr. 
Spalding. “ It’s so shut in.” 

That was just what Marian could not endure, but 
she said nothing. Harvey supplemented his father’s 
words with, “ There aren’t a lot of resorters yip- 
yapping around.” 

(“That must be his favorite word,” thought 
Marian.) 

“ Yes, one can go about in old clothes, and loaf 
and fish, and there isn’t a sound but a peep now and 
then from a kingfisher or a cat bird,” Mr. Spalding 
remarked. “ It certainly is a rest, after a man has 
been staying in hotels, and traveling around on trains 
full of crying babies and chattering misses.” He 
looked over at Lola, and smiled. 

“ This is a poor place to get away from chattering 
misses,” retorted Lola. “ But you knew that when 
you came.” 

Marian began to swing her boat around toward 
home, answering with a nod Lola’s wave of the 
hand, and Harvey’s flourish of an oar. She had 
hardly said a word, and yet the courtesy of the others 
had been such that she felt as if she had thoroughly 
entered into the conversation. 


1 1 8 Marian Frear’s Summer 

“ We always have a high old time when father 
comes,” shrilled Agnes, looking at the big smiling 
man with affectionate admiration. 

“ He’s a nice father,” thought Marian. 
“Fathers must be wonderful!” She had not 
thought much about that until now. She rowed on, 
absorbed in thinking what a great thing it must be 
to have a father to come home, and to bring one 
gifts, and to be loved and admired. As she laid the 
water-cress on the table, she said to her mother, 
“ Mr. Spalding was out in the boat with the Spald- 
ings — Harvey and the girls, I mean.” 

“ What sort of man is he? ” asked Mrs. Frear. 

“ You’ll probably see him. He’s sort of big and 
nice. I never thought before how wonderful it 
must be to have a father — living,” Marian replied. 

Mrs. Frear was silent for a minute, looking out 
through the swinging branches of the grapevine. 
“ It would have been different if he had lived,” she 
said sadly; and then with her accustomed fortitude, 
she added, “ but what we have to do is to make the 
best of life as it is.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


A QUESTION OF CLOTHES 

M ARIAN heard a whoo-hoo from the meadow, 
and ran down the path to meet Lola Spalding. 
“ What do you think? ” cried Lola, as the two girls 
came upon each other at the bars. “ Father wants 
us to go to the Grand View Hotel, on the other 
lakes, for supper, or dinner, rather — they have it 
at night, of course. We’re to take a ride in the car, 
and then go to the Hotel for dinner, and then stay 
to look at the dancing.” Lola’s cheeks were flushed 
with excitement and hurry. 

“ Oh, that will be great. I’m sure you’ll enjoy 
it,” answered Marian cautiously. She did not know 
what Lola implied. 

“I thought you understood — we want you to 
go along.” 

“I — me?” Marian looked happy and fright- 
ened. 

“ Yes, of course. You’ll go, won’t you? ” 

“ Why-y — ” Marian’s face fell. “I’d like to, 
just awfully, but — ” 

“Oh, don’t say you won’t. But what?” Lola 
spoke impatiently. 

“ I haven’t anything to wear.” There was a 
choke in Marian’s throat. 

“ Nonsense ! ” cried Lola. “ Anything will do.” 
“ But I haven’t ‘ anything.’ ” 


120 


Marian Fr ear’s Summer 


Lola wrinkled her forehead. “ Not a little white 
dress of some kind? ” 

“ No. I had a white muslin, but it got too small, 
and went all to pieces. I haven’t had a chance to 
get one, and besides — the expense.” Tears stood 
in the country girl’s eyes. It was humiliating to 
have to confess the slenderness of one’s wardrobe. 

“ But you can take one of mine! ” Lola glowed 
with the idea. 

“ Oh, no.” Marian shrank back. “ I wouldn’t 
take yours.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Something might happen to it.” 

“ Pooh! Nothing could.” 

“Well, something might”; Marian’s voice was 
firm. 

“ It wouldn’t make any difference.” 

“ It would to me.” 

“ Oh, but, Marian, I want you to go.” Lola put 
her arm around the other girl’s waist. 

“ I’d love to. I never go anywhere. And to 
take the ride, and go to a Hotel — it would be beau- 
tiful,” Marian returned slowly. “ But I’ll have to 
give it up.” She dug the toe of her shoe into the 
damp soil. 

“ You sha’n’t give it up. We’ll make you a 
dress.” Lola spoke with inspiration. 

“ Oh! ” Marian was startled. 

“ You know I make a lot of my own things,” Lola 
explained. 

“ Oh, do you? ” 

“ Of course. What am I taking the Household 
Arts course for? ” 


A Question of Clothes 121 

Marian looked at Lola perplexedly. “ But what 
would you make it of? ” she asked. 

“Couldn’t we buy something in the village?” 
ventured Lola. 

“ They don’t have anything there. And besides, 
I don’t like to ask mother for the money. I’ve — 
just bought some shoes.” Marian faltered. It 
was hard to have to talk about such things to Lola 
Spalding, who had everything she needed. 

“ I know. I’d feel that way, too,” the other as- 
sented. “ Now, let’s see. I know a girl who made 
a good-looking dress out of a window curtain.” 

Marian smiled wanly. “ I don’t believe we could 
spare any,” she said, “ and anyway, they aren’t nice. )} 

“ And I know some one who made a lovely gown 
out of an old linen sheet,” Lola hazarded. 

Marian looked up quickly. “ A linen sheet ! ” she 
exclaimed. “ Why, mother has a lot of those — 
woven by hand, years ago, you know.” 

“ Oh, they’re wonderful. That would be per- 
fect. But will she — ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I think so. Mother would do 
anything for me,” said Marian. “ She keeps those 
sheets put away — they’re so heavy to wash and 
iron.” 

“ Dare you ask her? ” queried Lola breathlessly. 

“ Surely I dare.” The two girls dashed up to the 
house, and into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Frear 
was “ stemming ” tiny cucumbers for pickles. 
“ Mother ! ” 

The lady lo-oked up at the two flushed girlish faces. 
“ What is it? ” she asked placidly. 

“ Do we have to coax? ” asked Lola, looking at 


122 


Marian Frear s Summer 


Marian. “ My mother used to say that coaxing 
never did any good.” 

“ No, we don’t have to,” responded Marian. 
“ Mother, the Spaldings want me to go with them to 
the Hotel on Clear Lake, and stay for dinner, and 
everything. They’re going in an automobile. 
When is it, Lola ? ” 

“ Father said it could be to-day or to-morrow. 
We’ll make it to-morrow,” Lola replied eagerly. 

“It sounds beautiful,” said Mrs. Frear; but a 
shadow rested on her face. “Well?” 

“ I haven’t anything to wear, you know,” finished 
Marian. 

“I know, dear. You haven’t much. But — ” 
Clothes never seemed of vital importance to Mrs. 
Frear. 

“ We’re going to make her a dress,” announced 
Lola. 

“ If we can,” added Marian. 

“ Out of what? ” Mrs. Frear’s busy hands were 
still, over the pan of cucumbers. 

“ That’s just where the coaxing comes in.” Lola 
smiled with a tinge of anxiety. 

“ I can’t think of anything that I have that would 
do,” said Mrs. Frear, almost frowning. “ Long 
ago, I cut up everything that I had, for Merry.” 

“ Not everything, mother. There’s something 
left — those old linen sheets ; you know you have a 
lot.” 

“A sheet! That sounds odd.” Mrs. Frear 
looked puzzled. “ Yes, I have seven or eight. But 
would they do? ” 

“ Would they? I should say so,” cried Lola. 


A Question of Clothes 123 

“ It seems a pity to cut one up — but it would wear 
a long time.” 

“ I’ll get one.” Mrs. Frear rose and went to a 
closet under the stairs, and brought out a pile of 
linen. “ Look these over, and see if you can find 
what you want,” she said. 

The girls swooped down upon the pile on the table. 
“ Here ! This is just the thing,” Lola exulted. 

“ This is a little coarser and thinner,” suggested 
Marian. 

“ Yes it is, and a lovely creamy color. Oh, let’s 
take this ! ” Lola held up the long smooth folds. 

“ But are you sure — ” Mrs. Frear looked rather 
dubious. 

“ Yes, yes, I have a pattern, and I know how,” 
Lola reassured her. 

“ But a machine? Mine is so old that it will 
hardly work.” 

“We have one of those hand-running machines 
— don’t you know?” Lola made vigorous mo- 
tions, as if she were turning a wringer. “ It goes 
this way.” 

“Dear me, I never saw one. What next?” 
sighed Mrs. Frear. 

“ Oh, we’ll do it in a jiffy. Can you spare 
Marian? ” 

“ Surely, for a while.” 

The two girls hurried to the landing, and the 
Paloma fairly flew to the Nest of the Pigeons. Lola 
had rowed over alone, for the first time. The sheet 
was now securely wrapped up, in the bottom of the 
boat. 

In Lola’s room, they laid the material out on the 


124 


Marian Fr ear’s Summer 


bed. Lola rummaged for a pattern, found it, 
clapped it down here and there, and beamed exult- 
antly. “ Yes, there’s plenty,” she said with relief. 
“ We’ll make one of those straight jumper-effects — 
open, with straps across, under the arms, and then 
you can wear any kind of waist with it. And we’ll 
make sleeves on a sham-waist, too, if we have enough 
— * sleeves of the linen, I mean.” 

It was incredible how quickly the pieces were cut 
out and basted together. Marian stood staring. 
Aunt Elsie came in, heard the news, and grew enthu- 
siastic. With firm, skillful hands, she assisted with 
the pinning and basting. “ It will be charming,” she 
predicted. 

When the fitting had been completed, Aunt Elsie 
took the skirt and Lola the jumper to finish. u I 
never saw any one work so fast,” marveled Marian. 
“ But what can I do? ” 

“ You can sew the sham-waist together,” said 
Lola. “ I think we can find some muslin for it. 
And now we’ve got to think about trimming or finish- 
ing, or something.” 

“ I wonder? ” mused Mrs. Dove. “ It ought to 
have just a little of something very nice — hand em- 
broidery, or real lace, or something. This old hand- 
woven linen is too nice for anything like a make- 
shift, you know.” Her shapely hand smoothed the 
creamy stuff with real affection. 

“ Mother has quite a lot of old lace — ” Marian 
suggested. “ I shouldn’t wonder if some of it 
would do.” 

“ It probably would — more than do,” Mrs. Dove 
glowed. “ It would have to be something not too 


A Question of Clothes 125 

fine — Cluny, or heavy Irish crochet, or something 
like that.” 

“ I’ll bring some over to-morrow, if mother has 
any that will do, and if she wants me to take it,” 
said Marian. 

“ This will be finished to-morrow forenoon, and 
then we can put on the lace,” said Lola. 

“You mustn’t stay in all day, sewing for me,” 
Marian expostulated. 

“ No, we’re going out with father this afternoon,” 
Lola reassured her. “ He’s out with Harvey and 
Agnes now.” 

Marian was stitching up the seams of the under- 
blouse, while the others busied themselves deftly at 
their tasks. She was thinking how fortunate it was 
that she had the white shoes. “ Mother thought of 
them just in time,” she meditated. 

“ I was just wondering about a hat,” said Mrs. 
Dove in her happy way, against wltfich no one could 
take offense. “ Do you have a light hat that you can 
wear with this? ” 

“ Yes, I have a cream-colored straw, with a wide 
brim,” Marian answered. “ I haven’t worn it a 
great deal, but the ribbon faded so that it doesn’t 
look nice.” 

“ I should think it would do beautifully,” Mrs. 
Dove said with satisfaction. “ You bring it over 
to-morrow, and we’ll do something with it. You 
know, Lola, there are those poppies on that big hat 
of mine. I thought I’d take them off and put on one 
of my blue plumes, to match my Georgette dress. I 
should think the poppies would be very becoming to 
Marian.” 


126 


Marian Fr ear’s Summer 


“ They would, with her dark hair,” Lola replied, 
taking careful basting-stitches on a facing. 

Marian went home in a state of inner excitement. 
She was going to have a new dress, and a new hat, 
and look well, and have a good time, “ like other 
girls.” Her mother listened with delight to the 
account of proceedings, and brought out a box of 
treasures saved from earlier days. “ I have some 
heavy laces here, I’m sure,” she said, turning over 
the contents of the box — embroideries and rufflings 
and edgings all more or less yellowed by time. 
“ Now this would do, don’t you think? ” She held 
up some pieces of rather coarse Cluny lace, sewed 
into a little pile with a blue thread. Ripping the 
thread, she displayed some “ insets ” or medallions 
of an attractive pattern, with some strips and frag- 
ments of edge and insertion to match. “ I believe 
this is just the thing,” she exclaimed. “ It’s some 
that I had on a linen jacket, myself, when I was a 
girl.” 

“ Oh, it’s lovely, mother,” Marian cried. “ I’ve 
seen it before, in that little bundle, but I never looked 
at it. You have a picture of yourself, in that jacket, 
haven’t you? ” 

“ Yes, I believe I have.” Mrs. Frear smiled rem- 
iniscently, as she looked at the bits of lace. She 
went to an old inlaid box which stood on a small 
table in the corner, and took out some photographs. 
“ Here it is,” she remarked, holding out a card to 
Marian. The girl took it, and smiled to see the odd 
puffed sleeves and narrow waist of the pictured 
costume, and the fresh happy face above it. 

“ There are the very medallions, and the edging,” 


A Question of Clothes 127 

she burst out excitedly. “ You can see the pattern. 
It’s the same, isn’t it? ” 

“ Yes, it is, I’m sure,” Mrs. Frear answered. 

“ And how nice and pleased you look, mother,” 
Marian went on. “ But what a funny jacket, with 
those sleeves all puffed out at the shoulder, and small 
down at the wrist.” 

“ ‘ Leg-o’-mutton,’ some people call them,” Mrs. 
Frear responded. “ That was the height of style 
in those days. I thought myself wonderfully well 
dressed.” 

“ It’s a silly style,” scoffed Marian. “ But you 
would have looked nice in anything. Anyhow, I like 
my new dress better.” 

“ I think, from your description, that it will look 
very attractive, and very much in the mode Mrs. 
Frear put the photograph away, and closed the box 
of trimmings. “ Wrap your lace up in paper, and 
then we’ll take a look at your hat,” she said. 

After the faded ribbon was removed, the hat 
proved to be in good condition. Mrs. Frear wiped 
it carefully with alcohol on a flannel cloth, so that it 
looked clean and fresh. She set it on the girl’s 
head. “ I always liked it on you,” she said 
encouragingly. “ I’m sure it will do splendidly.” 

Marian was up early the next morning, to get some 
work done before she went over to Pigeon’s Nest. 
When she started away, with the lace and the hat, 
her conscience was clear, and her heart elated. 

Mr. Spalding was sitting on the porch, reading a 
magazine, and she had a little talk with him before 
she went up to Lola’s room. It was merely about 
the lake, and fishing, and the weather, and the plans 


128 Marian F rear’s Summer 

for the evening, but it gave the girl a sense of 
equality and comradeship with the kindly man, so 
that she comprehended the enthusiasm which his 
children felt for him. 

Mrs. Dove and Lola greeted the lace with cries 
of satisfaction. “ The very thing! ” beamed Lola, 
flourishing the medallions in the air. 

“ Perfect,” added Mrs. Dove, “ color and quality 
and everything.” She loved laces, especially old 
ones, with a flavor of human interest. 

There were a few moments of discussion as to the 
best way of disposing of the lace, and then nimble 
fingers began to set it in and sew it on. Even 
Marian’s unpracticed eye saw how well it went with 
the linen, and how it added to the appearance of the 
dress. When the gown was ready to try on, she 
slipped into it with a gasp of delight. 

“ It’s lovely,” cried Mrs. Dove, standing back and 
appraising the success of the work, her golden head 
held at a critical angle. “ It’s really a beauty. I’ve 
seen many a dress from Paris that didn’t look so 
nice.” 

Marian was trying to see herself all at once in 
the dresser-glass. The dress did look amazingly 
well to her. 

“ Of course it will have to be pressed and fresh- 
ened,” conceded Lola, “ but I do think, though 4 1 
say it as shouldn’t,’ that it’s a grand success. It 
honestly is, isn’t it, Atmtie? ” 

“ My dear ! that dress would cost — well, I don’t 
dare say how much, on Michigan Boulevard,” Mrs. 
Dove replied; “ handwoven linen, and real lace and 
a lot of hand-sewing — you don’t get those for 


129 


A Question of Clothes 

nothing.” She patted Marian on the shoulder. 
“ You look as nice as a peach in it, too,” she assured 
the girl. “ You carry yourself so well. That’s 
what comes of being out of doors so much, I sup- 
pose — and having a long line of good ancestors; 
we mustn’t forget that.” 

Marian, her head whirling, had a last peep at her- 
self before she took the dress off. There were a 
few last stitches to take, and then the hat claimed 
attention. A black velvet ribbon, whisked out of a 
drawer, covered a tiny broken place, and some marks 
of stitches. The poppies were pinned on at a 
modest and yet effective angle. “ Fine ! ” Mrs. 
Dove exclaimed. “ Just as I thought. They’re 
immensely becoming.” 

“ You’re a dear.” Lola squeezed Marian’s arm, 
and moved the hat to the side a trifle. 

“ You’re more than that,” Marian answered, 
stammering with gratitude, “ you and Mrs. Dove, 
both.” 

“ We love it,” said Mrs. Dove calmly. “ There’s 
nothing I like better than furbishing things up, and 
making people look nice. It’s been a real pleasure 
to us.” 

“ It certainly has,” corroborated Lola, regarding 
the happy face of the other girl. “ And we’re 
awfully glad we didn’t spoil the cloth, and make a 
botch of it.” 

“ Mrs. Frear is to come over and stay with me 
this evening, while you’re gone,” said Mrs. Dove. 

“Oh, aren’t you going?” asked Marian, taken 
aback. 

“ No. Barbara would go into conniptions if she 


Marian Fr ear’s Summer 


130 

had to stay here alone. She dislikes it here badly 
enough anyhow,” Mrs. Dove replied. “ So some- 
body has to stay with her, and I really don’t care a bit 
about going. I want the youngsters all to have a 
good time, and their father is chaperon enough, I’m 
sure.” 

“ We’ve wrangled this all out,” said Lola, look- 
ing at Marian. “ Auntie’s like a rock when she 
makes up her mind, no matter how easy she is ordi- 
narily. So she’s going to stay at home, and she 
wants your mother to stay with her. Do you think 
she will? ” 

“ Why, yes, I’m sure she will,” Marian replied. 
“ I was worried about leaving her alone, but we’re 
so used to being there, that we don’t mind much.” 

When Mrs. Frear heard the message which 
Marian brought, she consented to go over when 
Marian went in the boat. “ It isn’t a bit necessary,” 
she protested, “ but it will be very pleasant.” 

“And now — the dress!” Marian unwrapped 
her parcel, and displayed the gown to the astonished 
eyes of her mother. “ Isn’t it grand? ” 

“ It’s simple and sweet and pretty,” Mrs. Frear 
agreed, radiant with her daughter’s pleasure. “ I 
was so in hopes they wouldn’t make it elaborate and 
— too fussy, you know. It’s just right. I’ll run 
and put on my irons.” 

“You don’t regret the sheet, do you, mother?” 
Marian was turning the dress over and looking at it 
as if she could never let it go. 

“ Not the slightest bit, dear.” 

“ It’s almost like magic, isn’t it? ” Marian sighed. 
“ I’ll never rest until I learn how to do things like 


A Question of Clothes 13 1 

that, too. Just think! Lola learned to sew at 
school ! I didn’t realize that schools taught such 
useful things.” 

“ It’s wonderful, when you think of it,” Mrs. 
Frear assented. “ And the kindness of Lola and her 
aunt, to do this for you ! ” 

“ That’s more of the magic,” Marian responded. 

When the dress lay, freshened and pressed and 
crisp, on the clothes bars, both mother and daughter 
drew a long breath of happiness and relief. Marian 
was to be at the Spaldings’ dock at half-past four, 
and so she had merely enough time to rest and bathe 
and dress. With deliberate care, she did her hair 
in the way which Lola had taught her, and tucked a 
net over it, lest it blow too much upon the journey. 
With hasty fingers, she tied the tapes of petticoat 
and camisole, and stood breathless, ready for the 
gown. 

Mrs. Frear helped her to slip the skirt over her 
head. Then the other pieces went on, fitting into 
place as neatly as could be desired. The straight 
modish lines of the dress gave an air to her figure 
which Marian had never thought she could possess; 
and the hat, well forward, and just a bit on one side, 
gave the needed touch of color and jauntiness. 

“ Marian, dear, it truly is charming.” Mrs. Frear 
put her arm around her daughter and kissed her. 

Marian was surveying herself in the glass. Now 
she turned, and her lips were trembling, her eyes full 
of tears. “ It’s so nice, mother, to feel right — to 
have something pretty, like other girls.” The tears 
ran down on the Cluny lace, and Mrs. Frear hastened 
to wipe them away. 


132 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

“ I’m just as glad for you as I can be, honey-love,” 
she said. “ And I feel, somehow, that from now on, 
things are going to be better.” She held the girl’s 
hands closely in hers. 

“ I feel it, too. I’m certain of it.” Marian’s 
face, relaxing from her mood of tearfulness, showed 
a glow of hope. “ There’s something ahead for 
both of us.” 

“ We must hurry. It’s almost time. Won’t you 
let me row?” begged Mrs. Frear. “ It isn’t good 
for your new dress. You must hold it up from the 
bottom of the boat, so that it won’t get soiled.” 

“ No, mother, I’ll row,” Marian answered firmly. 
“ I’d hate to sit there like a sack of meal, and let you 
do the rowing. I think I can tuck my dress up some- 
how.” 

“ I’m perfectly strong and able, Marian, and you 
know I’m not old.” Mrs. Frear laughed. She was 
still in the very early forties, straight and fresh- 
faced, without a wrinkle or a gray hair. 

“ Of course, I know very well that you aren’t, 
Mummy, but I want to row, just the same.” 

Mrs. Frear forbore to argue further. “ I nearly 
forgot,” she said; “ I was going to take this cake 
and some raspberry jam.” She had a spice-cake, 
wrapped in a towel, and a large glass of jam on the 
kitchen table. “ The Spaldings have been so nice to 
you that I feel as if I want to do some little thing 
for them.” 

Marian was putting her storm rubbers on over her 
white shoes, because the meadow path and the 
ground around the landing were moist and oozy. 
To save the shoes from being soiled by the inside of 


A Question of Clothes 133 

the rubbers, she had carefully wrapped each foot in 
white tissue paper, which stuck up around the rubbers 
in an odd way. Holding her skirts high, she went 
down the path, her mother going ahead in plain 
blouse and skirt, with her ordinary stout ties on her 
feet. 

“ Now, I’m going to row, child,” Mrs. Frear said 
with a decided accent, as they neared the landing. 

“ Mother, I insist — ” Marian began. Then they 
heard a splash of oars, and a cheery whoo-hoo from 
the water. Pushing aside the boughs, they saw 
Harvey Spalding, in the Paloma. 

“ I thought you wouldn’t want to row over, all 
dressed up,” he was saying; “ so I came to get you.” 

Marian gasped, conscious of her rubbers, and the 
queer-looking ends of paper sticking out from them. 

“ How good of you ! ” Mrs. Frear said heartily. 
“ Marian and I were just wrangling as to which 
should row.” 

Harvey was in white flannel trousers and silk 
blouse. His blue serge coat lay on a seat. “ I 
scrubbed out the boat,” he explained, as he jumped 
out, “ because we’d been fishing in it; and I put down 
a carpet — not exactly my coat for you to step on — 
like Sir Walter Raleigh — but you can have it if you 
want it.” He had said nothing of the change in 
Marian’s appearance, but he now gave her a look of 
appreciation which made her forget all about the 
awkwardness of the rubbers. “ It was lucky I came, 
or you might have been wrangling all night, and 
never got started,” he grinned, as he pushed the 
boat off. 

When they reached the other side, they found the 


134 Marian F rear’s Summer 

Spaldings in a bustle of departure. The car stood at 
the side of the house. Mr. Spalding, in a dust coat, 
was giving a last touch to the “ internal workings ” 
of the machine, as Agnes said. 

Lola, in a white wash-silk dress, stood with a long 
gray linen coat on her arm. She wore a small jaunty 
hat trimmed with blue-bells and rosebuds. Agnes 
wore a pink batiste dress, with a black sash, and a 
wide black hat simply trimmed with a fold of silk. 

Mrs. Dove greeted Mrs. Frear warmly, and then 
turned to Marian. “ You’ll need a dust-coat,” she 
said, “ and I have one here for you.” She held a 
blue linen coat for Marian to slip into. The girl 
buttoned the smart wrap about her with a feeling of 
luxury. “ What a heavenly chain,” sighed Mrs. 
Dove, looking at the old-fashioned gold chain of 
heavy twisted ropes, around Marian’s neck. 

Now all was clamor and chatter. Agnes climbed 
into the front seat with her father. Lola and 
Marian and Harvey took the back seat. “ Good- 
bye,” and “ Have a good time,” called Mrs. Dove 
and Mrs. Frear. The car was off, lurching though 
the wood road, and out into the road through a 
pasture; soon it found the smoother surface of the 
main highway. 

The ride was a whirl of delight to Marian. 
Though she was more or less familiar with the 
country, her opportunities for getting about had been 
so few that the scenes had almost the freshness of a 
new landscape. She looked eagerly at the farm- 
houses and fields, and exclaimed with as great 
pleasure as the Spaldings, when they came to the 


A Question of Clothes 135 

“ Indian Crossing,” with its picturesque bridge and 
its glimpse of stream and lake. 

Once, when they were going slowly, over a rough 
bit of road, they passed a scowling shock-headed 
youth of about nineteen. Harvey raised his hand to 
his hat in greeting, and Lola nodded. “ That’s the 
Erickson fellow who hauled our things for us,” said 
Harvey. Marian turned quickly, but it was too late 
to speak. She had not noticed who it was at first. 

“ Oh, dear! I suppose he thinks I meant to be 
snippy,” she sighed to herself, but soon forgot the 
incident in the happiness of the trip. 

The girls had taken off their hats, having provided 
themselves with nets for their hair, and they enjoyed 
the cool wind blowing against their faces. For an 
hour and a half the party sped through the country, 
and then suddenly the car turned in at the road 
which led to the Grand View Hotel. This was a 
spreading white building on a high wooded bank, 
overlooking a small lake scattered with islands. 

The gayety of the scene was a revelation to Merry. 
Little sailboats skimmed across the lake, the canvas 
shining like gold in the sun. Girls in white suits 
were playing tennis with men in duck trousers and 
silk shirts. Children were running about. Older 
people, in light gowns and silk or linen suits were 
walking up and down among the trees, or drinking 
lemonade on the verandas. In the quieter corners, 
groups were playing cards, with gravity or frivolity, 
as the case might be. The light dresses, the chatter 
and laughter, gave an air of carefreeness and ease 
which Marian had seldom seen. 


136 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

There was a long mirror in the ladies’ room, 
where the girls went to freshen themselves. 
Marian, taking off her coat and patting her hair into 
place, was startled to see her full-length figure in 
the glass. “ Why, I look as well as anybody ! ” was 
her involuntary thought. Even her hands, tanned 
by her labors in the garden, were no browner than 
the hands of the tennis players, or of those gay souls 
who rowed and bathed. 

As the group went out to the veranda, Marian 
said curiously to Lola, “ Do these people just spend 
the whole summer in having a good time? ” 

“ A few of them, maybe,” Lola replied, “ but I 
imagine that most of them work hard all the year, 
and are just having a week or two of vacation. 
They’re trying to get the most out of it that they 
can.” 

Marian felt that she would like to know the his- 
tory of every one: who worked, and who didn’t, how 
they happened to come here, where they got their 
clothes, “ and everything.” 

She and the Spaldings walked about, looking at 
the dock, the boats, the few belated bathers, the men 
selling ice cream cones, and all the details of the 
lively scene. Being escorted about by two good- 
looking men made the girls feel greatly at their ease. 
Marian found that she could laugh and chat with 
the rest. 

Then there was dinner in the big cool dining-room, 
where a string band was playing, on a vine-draped 
platform. Marian was a trifle disappointed at the 
dinner — it wasn’t a bit better than she had at home ; 
at least the cooking wasn’t. There were more 


A Question of Clothes 137 

courses, and the food was handed about by negro 
waiters, and there was sherbet in glasses in the 
middle of the meal, and then ice cream in crinkled 
paper cases at the last. And there was a strange- 
ness about the large round table, and the unaccus- 
tomed space and subdued clatter, which gave the 
country girl the thrill which she desired. 

“ Let’s go to the movies! ” said Harvey as they 
rose from the table. “We haven’t seen any for 
three weeks — maybe more.” 

“ I’m swooning for some movies,” echoed Agnes. 
“ I didn’t suppose I could live so long without seeing 
any.” 

“ I think I can stand them,” said Mr. Spalding, 
putting on a mock-martyr air. 

“ Most of them bore father to tears,” Lola ex- 
plained, “ but he endures them for our sake. And 
anyhow, he’s giving this party for us, and he’ll have 
to take the consequences.” 

Marian wondered how any one could speak so 
carelessly of the moving pictures. They were a rare 
treat to her, an evanescent ecstasy, which she hardly 
ever had the chance to enjoy. She sat enthralled 
while the varied incidents of an Alaskan tragedy 
flitted across the screen. “ So glad they gave us 
something cool in this hot weather,” whispered 
Harvey. Marian could scarcely take time for a 
responsive giggle, lest she should lose an inch of the 
film. When the villain had been disposed of, and 
the lovers united, she emerged half dazed into the 
dusk, her heart singing with romance and the joy of 
scenic marvels. 

It seemed as if she had had all that one could ask 


138 Marian F rear’s Summer 

in a few short hours; but the crowning excitement 
was the dancing in the big lighted pavilion among the 
trees, at the edge of the hotel grounds. Of course, 
Marian herself could not dance, but she hardly gave 
a thought to that deprivation, for the mere privilege 
of looking on seemed all that she ought to want. 
The music, the gay silk and muslin dresses, the white 
arms and shoulders, gauzy scarfs, elaborate coiffures f 
and light tripping slippers, made her feel as if she 
could listen and look forever. 

Harvey danced with Lola; and Marian followed 
them with her eyes about the room, wondering at 
their ease in that maze of whirling couples. When 
he brought Lola back, Harvey turned to Marian. 
“ I wish you could dance,” he cried, wiping his fore- 
head. “ You must learn.” 

“ I don’t know whether I could or not,” Marian 
answered, almost surprised that any one should sug- 
gest it. 

“ Sure you can. The girls’ll teach you,” Harvey 
assured her. “ You’ll learn in no time. It’s like 
falling off a log. Come on, Aggie. Have a 
whirl ! ” 

Agnes danced away lightly with her partner. She 
was more dainty and graceful on the dancing-floor 
than anywhere else. Marian watched her breath- 
lessly, with an unconscious wistfulness in her eyes. 
She was sitting next to Mr. Spalding. Lola was 
beyond the chair in which Agnes had been sitting. 

“ How do you like it?” asked Mr. Spalding 
genially of his enraptured guest. 

“ Oh, I love it! ” sparkled Marian, adding, “ You 
know I’ve never seen anything like this, before.” 


A Question of Clothes 139 

“You’ve lived there at the lake all your life?” 
Mr. Spalding questioned her. 

“ Yes, nearly; ever since I was four years old.” 

“ Well, it’s a fine place to live,” responded her 
companion thoughtfully; “but I suppose you’re be- 
ginning to wonder about getting out.” 

“ Yes, I am wondering a good deal,*” Marian 
replied, surprised at the “ understandingness ” o*f the 
man. “ It’s my education, you know, that I think 
of. I don’t see how I can get along without one.” 

“ In this day and age,” said Mr. Spalding, “ a 
person has to have a pretty good education to com- 
pete with others.” He glanced at her keenly, as she 
sat watching Harvey and Agnes. 

“ I know. And then it isn’t fair to mother to stay 
shut away from people all her life. She likes them, 
and enjoys being with them. She wants me to try 
to go away to school alone — at Willford, that is; 
but I don’t want to go until we can manage to go 
together.” 

“ That would be the thing,” agreed Mr. Spalding. 
“ You couldn’t very well leave her there alone — in 
the winter, especially.” 

“ That’s what I tell her. I am right, don’t you 
think?” Marian asked the big man’s advice as 
naturally as if she had known him a long time. 

“ Yes, I’m sure you are,” he answered judicially. 
“ But you’ll find a way to manage it,” he encouraged 
her. “ Why, when I was a boy, it just seemed to me 
that everything was against me. I didn’t see how 
I could go to college, any more than I could fly. But 
somehow, things opened up, and I worked it out. 
You’ll get to school somehow. I’m sure of it.” 


140 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

Before Marian could reply, Lola moved over 
beside her, and began to talk about the dresses which 
gyrated about the hall. And then Harvey and 
Agnes came back; and presently it was time to start 
for home. 

When they left the hall, where the music was still 
shrilling and beating, they saw that the big white 
moon had come up over the trees. The shadows 
were densely black, and vague forms moved among 
them, emerging now and then, into the light in the 
open spaces between the buildings. The breeze was 
cool and fresh, so that the; girls’ linen coats were 
acceptable as wraps, not merely as protection against 
the dust. The car bumped out into the road, and 
whizzed past dark barns, and houses where now and 
then a feeble yellow light shone. The party in the 
automobile had little to say, for they were sleepy 'or 
under the spell of the moonlight. 

It was late in the evening when Mr. Spald- 
ing sounded the horn with a loud honk outside 
Pigeon’s Nest. Lola was yawning, and Agnes, now 
in the back seat, had her head on Harvey’s shoulder. 
Mrs. Dove and Mrs. Frear came to the back door 
of the cottage, with a whoo-hoo of welcome. Mrs. 
Frear had her wraps on. 

“ Won’t you come in and have a bite with us? ” 
asked Mrs. Dove of Marian. 

“ No, I know mother would rather go home, and 
we’re all so sleepy,” said Marian. “ Thank you just 
as much. And oh ! I’ve had the best time I ever had 
in my life.” She put her arm shyly around Lola, 
and whispered, “ I thank you a thousand times. It’s 
all because of you and the dress ! ” 


A Question of Clothes 141 

“ I’m just awfully glad you could come,” Lola 
answered. “ It would have been a shame if you 
hadn’t.” 

With goodmights all around, and a word of thanks 
to Mr. Spalding, Marian and her mother turned 
toward the lake. Harvey went down and rowed 
them home, in spite of the remonstrances of the 
Frears. “ I could bring the Paloma back in the 
morning, before you were up,” asserted Marian. 
“ It’s too late for you to bother.” 

“ No doubt you could, but I’m not going to let 
you,” the lad replied. “ And anyhow, it’s a mag- 
nificent night to be out. I’m glad of the excuse.” 

The moon, astonishingly bright, flooded the lake 
with its cool radiance. In the still, flat expanse the 
stars were reflected, and the circle of dark trees and 
underbrush. The quiet dip of the oars rippled the 
surface and left a faint glittering wake behind the 
boat. In the treetops, birds twittered sleepily; 
deeper within the woods, the raccoons chattered in a 
querulous undertone. Now and again, a frog 
croaked or a muskrat splashed in the water along the 
shore. Marian, sitting in the bow of the boat, was 
alert to scene and sound, and glowing with the 
remembrance of the happiest time she had ever had. 

“ And just think,” she was saying to herself, “ they 
needn’t have taken me if they hadn’t wanted to. It 
wouldn’t have made any difference to them. And 
what a difference it has made to me I ” Her throat 
tightened a little, with her feeling of gratitude to 
Lola and Mrs. Dove for the kindly interest which 
had made this happy evening possible. 

Mrs. Frear and Marian would not let Harvey 


142 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

come up to the house with them, for they were not 
afraid, and had left matches at the back door for 
immediate use. With a hearty good-night, he 
pushed his bo-at away from the landing, and as the 
two women found the path to the meadow, they 
heard him singing out upon the lake, 

“ Shine on, shine on ! 

Took a little row down Jordan, 

Shine on, shine on, O Jee-ru-sa-/^/" 


CHAPTER IX 

THE LUSTER PITCHER 

u TT’S a good thing that the weather was clear yes- 
* terday.” Mrs. Frear sat beside the lamp, a 
bit of sewing in her fingers. She and Marian had 
been talking over the events of the day and evening 
before. Outside, the rain was drumming and 
splashing; and a cool wet wind blew in from a half- 
open window. 

“ It would have been horrible to have to give up 
the motor-ride and everything, after the dress was 
made, and I’d set my heart on going.” Marian felt 
as if she could not have borne the disappointment. 

“ I’m happy that you didn’t have to.” 

There was a meditative silence, and then Marian 
burst out, “ Mother, how have you stood it all these 
years — working so hard, and going without every 
blessed thing that you liked and wanted? ” 

“ Not every blessed thing, Merry,” corrected Mrs. 
Frear, smiling over her hemming. “ I had one.” 

“One?” Marian stared. “Oh — me? Well, 
I must have been anything but a blessing, a good deal 
of the time.” 

“ / thought you were a comfort.” Mrs. Frear 
spoke with a sparkle of remembrance. “ It was 
such a trial for me to let you go to school: it was 
a long way across the fields, and you were so little 
143 


144 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

— starting out, carrying your dinner-pail, as brave 
as could be. I used to go to the edge of the farthest 
field with you, you remember, and then watch you 
out of sight. I was always relieved when the 
Erickson children came along and took you with 
them.” 

“ Sometimes I didn’t want to go at all,” said 
Marian with a grimace, “ because the boys were so 
rough. And I used to cry because Carl Erickson 
called me ‘ Miss Dictionary.’ The Ericksons were 
always going on about my using big words.” 

“ The words were just ordinary ones, that you’d 
heard me use, but perhaps they did sound odd, from 
such a little girl,” Mrs. Frear replied. 

“ These last two years, since I haven’t been going 
to school, I’ve realized how lonesome you must have 
been all day, here, with no one to speak to. If you 
could have afforded books and magazines, it wouldn’t 
have been so bad.” 

“ Yes, that’s the worst deprivation we’ve had to 
suffer — being hungry all the time for the printed 
page.” 

“ People who have libraries to go to all the time, 
and magazines at home, don’t understand how 
savage any one gets for reading, when they can’t 
afford it,” cried the girl. 

“ Well, we got on.” Mrs. Frear refused to 
repine over a seemingly barren past. “ And any- 
how, if you’d had all the reading you wanted, you 
probably wouldn’t have been willing to study those 
old French books of mine, these last two years. I’m 
glad I could give you a start in French, anyhow. I 


The Luster Pitcher 145 

feel sure that it will help you out when you do get 
into school.” 

“ When I do! ” Marian sighed. Mrs. Frear laid 
down her hemming, and took up a magazine which 
the Spaldings had lent them. She turned the pages 
luxuriously, pausing here and there to read a few 
lines, or to study a picture. The rain poured down 
ceaselessly. Big impatient moths were knocking and 
fluttering against the screens at door and window. 
Marian caught her breath. “ Isn’t it wonderful, 
mother,” she said, clasping her hands in her lap, “ to 
know that there’s a light in the Craik place — the 
Spalding place — Pigeon’s Nest — and that people 
are sitting there, breathing, talking, laughing — 
folks, real folks ! ” 

“ Yes, it’s beautiful.” Mrs. Frear’s expressive 
eyes looked over into her daughter’s. “ I’m glad 
for you. It’s made a difference. You look dif- 
ferent, Merry.” 

“ Merrier? ” The girl laughed at her pun. 

“ Yes, just that.” 

“ I am. But I haven’t got over my foolishness 
yet. What do you suppose I’m worrying about 
now? ” Marian gave an ashamed glance at the 
loving face beyond the table. 

“ About their going away,” Mrs. Frear said at a 
hazard. 

“ Yes, that’s it. Only a few more weeks, and 
then they’ll be gone.” 

“ Oh, child,” the mother cried reproachfully, 
“ can’t you accept the good for the time being, and 
not look too far ahead? ” 


146 Marian Frea/s Summer 

“ I know I ought to.” Marian was fingering the 
fringe on the table-cover. “ I know what you’re 
thinking — that I’m a horrid ungrateful thing, and 
that I don’t trust people enough.” 

“ I didn’t say so.” Mrs. Frear concealed a smile. 

“ I heard you thinking it,” Marian retorted. 
“ You can think the loudest of any one I ever saw.” 

“ Well, then if you’re sure you heard it, why not 
accept the rebuke?” Mrs. Frear reached over and 
patted the girl’s brown hand. “ And now,” she said 
more briskly, “ it’s getting late, and we were out 
last night. Time to go to bed.” She glanced at the 
old mahogany clock, which stood upon the mantel, 
with the silver luster pitcher on one side, and a silver 
candlestick on the other. 

Marian got up and lighted another candle, which 
she took from a shelf in the store-room. Her fine 
young face was thoughtful. As she paused at the 
foot of the stairs, she turned and said, “ I’m going 
to enjoy their company every bit that I can, and not 
think at all what it will be like when they’ve gone.” 

“ That’s certainly the best way,” responded Mrs. 
Frear. She closed the doors and put out the light, 
preparing to follow her daughter up stairs. 

Sometime during the next afternoon, Mrs. Dove 
appeared at the kitchen door of the Frears’ little 
home. She was carrying the towel and the marma- 
lade jar which Mrs. Frear had taken over to Pigeon’s 
Nest. 

“ Come right in,” said Mrs. Frear cordially, 
answering Mrs. Dove’s knock. 


The Luster Pitcher 147 

“ What a cozy place you have ! ” exclaimed “ Aunt 
Elsie,” as she stepped inside. Her keen gray eyes 
flashed over the four walls of the room. It did look 
pretty, with the grapevine swaying at the window, 
and the neat shelves where the blue Canton cups 
stood, and plates ranged on edge. There was a blue 
denim cover over the table, and on it sat a gray stone 
jar full of pink and white verbenas. 

“ Come into the other room,” invited Mrs. Frear. 
“ It’s cooler in there.” 

“ Well, I should love to sit in this kitchen,” sighed 
Mrs. Dove. “ But yes, we’ll go into the other 
room.” This was the first time that she had been 
in the house. She made no comment as she entered 
the sitting-room, but Marian, who had been at work 
there, saw the visitor’s gaze rest admiringly on the 
old mahogany table which Lola had praised. 

They all sat down, and the talk for a few minutes 
was about the expedition to Grand View, and about 
Mr. Spalding’s going back to the city. “ Does he 
stay alone while you’re up here? ” asked Mrs. Frear. 

“ Yes, he does when he’s in town, but he has been 
gone a good deal this summer,” answered Mrs. 
Dove. “ He keeps his room at the house, and goes 
out for his meals. It’s rather hard on him, but he 
would have us come up here, and enjoy the woods 
and the water. He thinks it’s good for the 
children.” 

“ So it is,” said Mrs. Frear; “ and of course it’s 
quite a responsibility for you to bring them up here 
and take them back safely.” 

“ It is, really,” cried Mrs. Dove. “ Nobody but 


148 Marian F rear’s Summer 

you seems to have understood that. It’s actually 
more of a responsibility than as if they were my 
own.” 

“ I see what you mean,” agreed Mrs. Frear. “ It 
has been quite an undertaking for you to look after 
three youngsters. I’ve found it something of a care 
with one.” She gave a teasing glance at Marian. 

Mrs. Dove leaned back in her chair, and began to 
speak rapidly, with the impulsiveness which charac- 
terized her. “ You see, Agnes was only eleven — 
just a little girl — when I came to live with them. 
And they’d had some queer housekeepers — well- 
meaning women, most of them, but either harsh and 
hard, or else indifferent and easy. Really, Mrs. 
Frear, it almost frightened me to take charge of that 
house and those children.” 

“ I can see how it might,” Mrs. Frear assented. 

“ It wasn’t as if I’d had any children of my own,” 
Mrs. Dove was going on. “ My husband and I had 
been free to travel about, and when he died, I felt so 
restless, I wanted to keep on traveling. And then 
— after that sort of life — to settle down, and take 
up the thousand details of a household and a group 
of growing children — ” She gave a gesture of 
despair. “ I don’t know how I had the courage to 
do it.” 

“ I’m sure you must have done it very well,” said 
Mrs. Frear consolingly. 

Mrs. Dove sighed. “ Not so terribly well, I’m 
afraid,” she confessed. “ I hate housekeeping; in 
my secret soul I do. Of course, I’ve forced myself 
to do it fairly decently, but I’ve neglected a lot of 
things, too. And then, the children! It takes so 


The Luster Pitcher 149 

much wisdom to know what to do, doesn’t it? ” She 
looked appealingly at the older lady. 

“ It surely does. As I was saying, I’ve found it 
so with one, in these simple surroundings.” 

“ Then you can imagine how I felt, with three, in 
somebody else’s house, and in town, where there 
were so many unexpected situations always arising.” 

“ Yes, yes, I can get an idea of it,” Mrs. Frear 
nodded. Marian was sitting silent, listening to this 
new revelation of the Spaldings’ household affairs. 

“ It seems sometimes as if I couldn’t go on with 
it,” Mrs. Dove said hesitatingly. “ Of course, I 
love the youngsters; they’re perfect dears, in spite 
of their faults, and they’re as good to me as any 
children could be. But I’m yearning to take a good 
long journey again — halfway round the world.” 
She stopped, as if she were afraid that she had said 
too much. “ I don’t want you to think — I hope I 
haven’t — ” she said in a conscience-stricken way. 
“ I do love the children, you know, and I want to do 
all I can for them.” 

“We understand perfectly,” responded Mis. 
Frear. u Everybody can see how devoted you are 
to them.” 

There was a space of silence, while Mrs. Dove 
took breath after her somewhat-regretted speech. 
While she had been talking, her eyes had more than 
once wandered to the mantel. Now she turned to 
it again. “ Mrs. Frear,” she said, “ I just can’t 
keep my eyes off that old silver-luster jug on the 
clockshelf — it’s a choice bit, if there ever was one.” 

“ Oh, that? ” answered Mrs. Frear vaguely. u I 
use it to put odd change in.” She rose and lifted it 


i^o Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

down. u I’m afraid it’s a bit dusty.” It was not. 
“Would you like to look at it?” She shook out 
some bits of paper and silver, and flicked at the 
smooth sides of the pitcher with her handkerchief. 

Mrs. Dove took the jug into her hands with the 
loving touch of one who knows and values old china. 
She sighed. “ It’s a beauty — the loveliest I’ve ever 
seen of this sort. That band of blue, and the land- 
scape are charming. This is a museum piece — did 
you know it? ” 

“ N-no. I hadn’t thought much about it.” 
Mrs. Frear flushed. “ I knew it was nice. Grand- 
mother would never let us children touch it. We 
smashed a good many of her treasures.” She smiled 
again at Marian. 

Mrs. Dove shuddered. “ Thank heaven, you 
didn’t smash this.” She ran her fingers around the 
edge of the pitcher, and followed the graceful course 
of the handle. “ I suppose — ” she stammered, 
“ you wouldn’t sell this, would you? ” She glanced 
almost timidly at Mrs. Frear from the corner of 
her eye. 

Mrs. Frear started, and looked perplexed. 
“ Would you like it — so much? ” she queried, while 
Marian’s eyes sought hers. 

“ It would be just right to complete a group of 
things that I’m giving to the Museum in Springfield,” 
said the guest, holding the jug in her lap. “ I have 
plenty of copper-luster, and some silver, too, but 
this would set the whole group off ! I’d like it just 
tremendously.” Her voice was appealing, and her 
eyes were very eager. 

Marian was watching her mother. “ But — but 


The Luster Pitcher 


I5i 

— ” began Mrs. Frear. “ I shouldn’t know what to 
ask for it.” 

“ I know what it’s worth,” said Mrs. Dove. 
“ But of course, you’d have to take my word for it.” 
The clock ticked loudly as the three women sat in 
silence. 

“ How much? ” asked Mrs. Frear in a bewildered 
way. 

“ Thirty-five dollars, at a medium price,” said 
Mrs. Dove. 

“Oh, surely not so much as that!” ejaculated 
Mrs. Frear. 

Mrs. Dove laughed. “ You’re not a very good 
saleswoman,” she remarked. “ But anyhow, it’s 
worth it. I know the prices of these things. Do 
you want to let me have it at that price? ” she asked 
briskly. 

“ I’d feel ashamed,” Mrs. Frear responded. 

“ You needn’t. It’s purely a business matter.” 

Marian was thinking, “Thirty-five dollars! It 
takes so long to save that much, and what a lot it 
would buy, if one were careful ! ” 

Her mother turned to her. “ What do you say, 
dear? ” she questioned. “ Should you think me 
rather dreadful, if I sold your great-grandmother’s 
milk-jug? ” She was smiling in a puzzled way as 
she spoke. 

“ No, I don’t think so,” the girl answered slowly. 
“ You have so many other old things like that, and 
you can use the money for something that you need.” 
She was thinking, “ Mother could have a nice coat, 
or a really good-looking dress.” 

Mrs. Dove was looking from one of the Frears to 


152 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

the other. “ I see no reason for being coy about it,” 
said Mrs. Frear sensibly. “ Yes, I’ll sell it to you, 
Mrs. Dove. But do be sure that you’re not giving 
me too much. I should feel really hurt if I thought 
you were — giving me too much — because — ” 
She stopped uncertainly, but Marian was glad that 
her mother had said something to protect them from 
being patronized, if Mrs. Dove had any such inten- 
tion. 

“ I see what you mean.” Mrs. Dove’s clear eyes 
met those of her hostess steadily. “ I’ll assure you 
honestly that you needn’t have any fear of that.” 

“ Then it’s all right,” said Mrs. Frear with relief. 
“ You may have it.” 

“ I’m glad.” Mrs. Dove took a carved leather 
purse from her handbag, and counted out two ten- 
dollar bills and three fives, upon the table. “ You 
beautiful thing! ” She took the jug up and caressed 
it. “ I couldn’t resist you. And don’t you see — ” 
she turned to Mrs, Frear — “ a lot of people will 
look at this and learn to love such things.” 

Everybody drew a long breath when the trans- 
action was over. “ Lola told me that you had a 
good many nice old things,” Mrs. Dove continued, 
“ but now I don’t need to take her word for it. I 
can see for myself. That table is a beauty — and 
that old mirror; and the chairs are delightful, too. 
Do pardon me for staring about. I’m always fasci- 
nated with such things.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind,” Mrs, Frear reassured her. 
Marian was hoping that Mrs. Dove would not offer 
to buy anything more, just then. The money lay 
untouched upon the table. Mrs. Dove, with ready 


The Luster Pitcher 


153 


tact, changed the subject, and began to talk about 
the garden, and then the girls, Lola and Agnes. 
“ And oh, goodness! ” she exclaimed, “ I’ll have to 
hurry back, if Barbara is to have the things I 
promised to bring for supper.” She jumped up 
girlishly from her chair. She was holding the 
pitcher as if it were a baby. “ You’ve made me very 
happy by letting me have this,” she said. 

“ You’ve done us a good turn, too,” Mrs. Frear 
replied in her gentle but frank way. 

Marian sighed within herself. “ Mother is so 
nice and simple about things,” she thought. “ She 
hasn’t any false pride, and yet she isn’t blunt or dis- 
agreeable. I wonder how she does it?” Aloud 
she said, “ I’ll go with Mrs. Dove and get the things, 
mother.” She went out to get the eggs and lettuce 
and berries which the visitor required. 

When she came back, Mrs. Frear was still sitting 
in the chair where she had been. She roused herself, 
and took the money from the table, putting it into 
her black leather purse. Neither she nor her 
daughter said a word. The older woman re- 
arranged the shelf, putting another candlestick in 
the place of the jug. After a while she murmured 
thoughtfully, “ It will help us a good deal.” She 
smiled at the girl’s serious face. “ I keep thinking 
about your going to school at Willford. Perhaps 
we could manage it. We’re doing so well with the 
garden.” 

“ But I want you to have this for yourself,” urged 
Marian. “ You ought to, mother. You don’t have 
anything.” 

“ We’ll share it,” said Mrs. Frear, touching 


154 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

Marian on the cheek. “ Do you want to build up 
the fire in the kitchen? I thought I’d make some 
baking-powder biscuits.” 

As she lighted the fire, Marian felt unaccountably 
happy. Vistas seemed to open before her. Once 
or twice she thought, “ I don’t see why I’m not feel- 
ing patronized, or something. I think it must be be- 
cause the Spaldings are such natural people. They 
don’t stir one all up with make-believes.” Indeed, 
a great part of her pleasure was the assurance that 
Mrs. Dove was happy in the acquisition of the jug, 
— the “ museum piece,” as she termed it. 

“ There are such unexpected ways of working out 
one’s problems,” said Mrs. Frear, as she sifted the 
flour into a gray crock. Cuddling Rosy-Nosey, who 
had just come in from out-doors, Marian speculated 
as to the various forms which she might expect the 
unexpected to take. 

Trips back and forth between the two homes on 
the lake were now becoming very frequent. Mr. 
Spalding had gone, and the youngsters were busying 
themselves as usual with fishing, swimming, sewing, 
reading, picking wild berries, and going on expe- 
ditions about the lake. One day, soon after the 
episode of the luster pitcher, Marian was approach- 
ing Pigeon’s Nest in her boat, thinking how terrified 
she had been that first morning, when she went over 
to take the raspberries. “ I believe mother made 
me do that, just to help me to get acquainted with the 
Spaldings,” she said to herself, “ and to get me out 
of my silly bashfulness.” 

Busy with her thoughts, she climbed the hill, and 


The Luster Pitcher 


155 

came upon the colored maid, Barbara, sitting on a 
rug, under a tree, crocheting at a piece of edging. 
There was a dejected air about the girl, in spite of 
the showy pink muslin gown which she wore. 

Marian stopped to speak to the disconsolate 
creature. “ That’s a pretty pattern that you’re 
crocheting, Barbara,” she said. 

“ Landy, Miss, it ain’t much,” Barbara replied. 
u I’ve done heaps better’n that. My mother has 
aidges as deep as your finger, on her pillow cases, 
that I’ve made for her.” 

“ You like to crochet, then? ” asked Marian, for 
want of something better to say. 

“ Just so-so. I ain’t crazy ’bout it,” was the 
gloomy reply. “ But there ain’t nothin’ to do in a 
place like this, where the leaves is a-whisperin’ and 
the wind a-blowin’ all the time. At night it’s a 
whole lot worse — a mess o’ little frogs goin’ 
ca-chug, ca-chug, and beasts and things patterin’ 
round in the leaves on the ground — ” 

“ They aren’t beasts, Barbara,” Marian expostu- 
lated; “ they’re only rabbits and raccoons.” 

“ I dunno what they are,” sighed the colored 
girl; “ and then there’s them owls, always whoo- 
hooin ’ round — I don’t like them owls, nohow-” 

“ An owl couldn’t hurt anybody — ” Marian tried 
to say. 

But Barbara was well started on her subject. 
“ One night, just after we got here,” she was going 
on, “ I heard a noise, and I looked out the window. 
The moon was shinin’ low down among the trees. 
And I seen one o’ them big whitey-like owls a-flyin’ 
as soft as a ghos’ into the shadows. Do you think 


156 Marian Frear's Summer 

it could ’a’ been a kind of a ghos’, Miss?” She 
suspended her crocheting, and looked up at Marian 
with wretched eyes. 

“No, no! Of course not!” Marian exclaimed. 
“ It was just an owl. I’ve seen lots of them. 
They’re just as harmless as pussy-cats.” 

Barbara shook her head solemnly. “ Pussy-cats 
ain’t harmless, if they’re black, and they cross your 
path at night,” she answered with conviction. 
“ And them owls that’s all soft and whitey-like and 
creepy, and go flappin’ and slinkin’ along in amongst 
the trees, they ain’t so harmless, neither. My 
mother would-a said that they was dead folkses souls, 
takin’ another shape; I ain’t sayin’ it myself, but — ” 

“ Horrors, Barbara ! ” cried Marian, “ they’re 
nothing but birds, out after something to eat.” 

“ I don’t like ’em,” Barbara muttered; “ nor the 
bats, either, that go whirlin’ round your haid, just 
at dusk-time. No, ma’am, I don’t care a-tall for this 
here livin’ out in the woods. I’m just achin’ every 
day to git back to where there’s houses, and movies, 
and folks, and you can hear the ottomobiles honkin’, 
and see the fire-engine go by.” 

“ Oh, well, perhaps you’ll get so that you like it 
here, after you’ve been here long enough,” answered 
Marian. 

“ If I stayed that long y I’d be hobblin’ on two 
canes, with no teeth ner hair,” said Barbara bitterly. 

Marian laughed, and went on up the hill. “ I saw 
Barbara out on the bank,” she said to Lola,- after 
their greetings were over. 

“ Oh, yes, it’s her afternoon out,” said Lola, with 
a half-humorous sigh. 


The Luster Pitcher 


157 

“Oh, she has an afternoon out?” queried the 
other girl vaguely. 

“ Of course. She has to have one, but she doesn’t 
know what in the world to do with it. She fusses 
with her clothes, and dolls herself all up, as Harvey 
says, and writes letters to her people in Virginia, and 
crochets and sleeps, but all the time she’s bored 
nearly to extinction.” 

“ She says she doesn’t like it here, at all,” said 
Marian. 

Mrs. Dove now spoke from the hammock. “ She 
detests it,” said the lady with a disturbed air. 
“ Harvey! ” She raised her voice as she called her 
nephew. 

“What?” answered an uninterested voice from 
inside the house. Harvey came out with a book in 
his hand. He grinned and nodded at Marian, and 
then gave his attention to his aunt. 

“ Harvey, won’t you take Barbara out in the 
boat?” begged Mrs. Dove. “She’s so bored, she 
doesn’t know what to do with herself, and I’m so 
anxious to keep her — I don’t know what we’d do 
if she left.” 

“ Why, I’d just as lief take her out,” yawned 
Harvey. “ But you know, Auntie, she doesn’t care 
for it. She was squealing most of the time, when I 
invited her to take a ride, the other day.” 

“ Well, you might try it again, anyhow.” Mrs. 
Dove ha.d a wrinkle between her eyes. “ She makes 
me nervous, sitting around and sighing like a bellows 
when any one comes near her. 

“ All right. We’ll quench those sighs,” responded 
Harvey cheerfully. Then, looking over at the black 


158 Marian F rear’s Summer 

head of Barbara, just visible above the blue-berry 
bushes, he clasped his hands in a sentimental attitude, 
and sang under his breath, 

“ Why is that tear on your cheek? ” 

“Harvey!” cried Mrs. Dove, biting her lips, 
“ can’t you be serious? ” 

“ Yes, Auntie, this is a serious matter,” murmured 
the boy. “ Don’t you want to go along? ” he asked, 
turning to Marian. 

“ I’m not much good at talking to her,” 
said Marian dubiously. “ I don’t know what to 
say.” 

“ One can but try,” said Harvey in a resigned 
tone. “ Want to come, Lo? ” 

“ No,” Lola returned. “ Marian will go, and one 
is enough. More might make Barbara self-con- 
scious.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” said Harvey. 
“ Come on, Marian.” He walked over to where 
the maid was sitting, and Marian followed. 
“ Don’t you want to go out on the lake, Barbara? ” 
the young man asked politely. 

Barbara gave a start, and sighed loudly. 
“ Thanks, Mr. Harvey,” she responded, “ I’mkind-a 
scared of the water.” 

“ It’s as smooth as a looking-glass,” persuaded 
Harvey; “you’d better come. I’m sure you’ll like 
it this time.” 

Barbara sighed again, and rose reluctantly. 
“ I’m sure tired of doin’ nothin’,” she admitted. 
“ I’ll try takin’ a little trip.” She giggled and 
cringed as she stepped into the Paloma. 


The Luster Pitcher 159 

“ See the minnows ! ” Marian called the maid’s 
attention to the tiny dark fish scurrying about in the 
shallows. 

“ Cunning little mites, ain’t they, Miss?” Bar- 
bara was attempting to do her part in the conversa- 
tion. “ But them clammy things, they’re queer, I 
think.” 

“ Clammy things? ” Marian looked puzzled. 

“ That’s what Miss Agnes says they are.” 

“ Oh, clams! ” laughed Marian. 

“ They ain’t like the ones you eat with melted 
butter, are they? ” asked Barbara anxiously. 

Marian had never eaten any. They had now 
rowed out to the deep blue water, where mysterious 
depths showed themselves under the boat. “ Ugh ! 
Ain’t it deep ! ” Barbara sat crouched in the stern, 
staring with round eyes at the space between her and 
the shore. “ Some unseen hand might reach up and 
pull us down! ” 

“ Come, now, Barbara,” expostulated Harvey, 
“ there aren’t any unseen hands. Forget it.” 

“ Some awful strange things does happen,” the 
maid defended herself, drawing her pink skirts 
closely around her. 

“Isn’t it pretty to see the hills over there!” 
Marian was trying to change the conversation. 

“ Oh, it’s gettin’ blacker and blacker,” groaned 
Barbara, with her eyes on the water again. “ It 
goes down and down. Is there any bottom to this 
here, Mr. Harvey? ” 

“ Acres of it — only seventy-five or eighty feet 
below,” Harvey reassured her. And then he began 
to chant, sotto voce: 


160 Marian F rear’s Summer 

“ Bryan O’Lynn and his wife and her mither, 

They all went out in a boat togither. 

The boat being thin, 

They all fell in. 

‘You’ll find ground at the bottom! ’ says Bryan O’Lynn.” 

Marian was restraining a smile. “ You might 
have chosen something more cheerful,” she said, 
looking pityingly at the frightened colored girl. 

“ That’s cheerful enough,” Harvey retorted. 
“What sort of song would you like, Madam?” 
An oar scraped the surface, and scattered the shining 
drops about on the water. 

Barbara shrieked. “ Oh, Landy! I thought we 
was goin’ down, sure,” she wailed. 

“ Why don’t you look at the scenery? See how 
odd the house looks from here,” said Marian. 

“ I ain’t never cared much for scenery, Miss.” 
The scared passenger was clinging to the sides of the 
boat. u I ain’t never cornin’ out again. Take me 
back to shore, Mr. Harvey! Do, please take me 
back.” 

“ All right. Back you go,” assented Harvey, 
nothing loth. He threw a glance over his shoulder 
at Marian, and began singing in a sort of mumble, 

“ Oh, Mister Captain, stop your ship, 

I want to get out and walk! ” 

In a few minutes, he had put the distracted Bar- 
bara ashore. She disappeared, gasping, around the 
side of the house, without a word of thanks or 
apology. 

Mrs. Dove looked more anguished than ever, 
when the result of the pleasure-ride was explained to 


The Luster Pitcher 161 

her. “ I don’t know what on earth to do,” she 
repeated. “ We can’t send for a colony of colored 
persons, to keep her company, and we can’t cut down 
all the trees ! ” 

“ Some unseen hand tells me that we’re going to 
lose our valued Barbara,” commented Harvey 
wisely. 

“ Harvey! Don’t say it! ” Lola besought him. 

“We might as well be resigned to our loss, 
Auntie,” Harvey remarked. 

“ I might raise her wages,” suggested Mrs. 
Dove. 

“ What’s the use of wealth, if one can’t spend it 
on the movies? ” inquired Harvey tragically. 

“ It’s a problem,” Mrs. Dove sighed, not hearing 
what he said. 

“ I find it so,” the lad made answer. 

“ Harvey, you are a tease.” Mrs. Dove strug- 
gled to get out of the hammock, and then took 
Harvey’s helping hand. “ But anyhow, thank you 
for trying to do something for the cause. If she 
leaves, we can’t restrain her by force, I suppose.” 
Her hand fumbled at her hairpins. “ Dear me, I 
must go and make myself presentable.” She went 
into the house, and the others chatted for a while on 
the porch. 

Presently they heard Mrs. Dove calling from her 
bedroom. “What is it?” questioned Harvey, 
going to the door of the sitting-room. 

“ Ask Marian to come here,” said Mrs. Dove. 

Marian went into Mrs. Dove’s room, a bright 
chintz-hung place, with long horizontal windows, 
closely screened with netting. Mrs. Dove was hold- 


162 


Marian F rear’s Summer 


mg up a gray linen skirt and looking at it inquiringly. 
“ Do look at this skirt,” she said to the wondering 
girl. “ I had it made before I came up here, and it 
wasn’t washed right, or something. Anyhow, it 
shrank beyond recognition.” 

“ It’s too bad,” sympathized Marian, sorry to 
hear the sad tale. “ Mother knows how to keep 
things from shrinking — at least she knows how to 
wash them, so that they won’t shrink any more than 
they have to.” It seemed queer, she thought, to 
see the silver-luster pitcher — her great-grand- 
mother’s — sitting on the shelf here in Mrs. Dove’s 
room. 

“ This is too small for me around the waist and 
the hips,” explained the lady, “ and it’s absolutely too 
good to throw away. Now, can you use it, do you 
suppose? It would be a real kindness if you’d take 
it. It worries me, hanging there, of no use to any- 
body.” 

“ Why-y-y,” Marian began, confusedly, “ per- 
haps — ” 

“ Slip it on over your other skirt, and see how it 
fits,” suggested Mrs. Dove. 

Marian put it on over her blue serge. “ It will 
be perfect for you,” exulted Mrs. Dove, “ after the 
hooks are moved. You’ll take it, won’t you?” 

The quick impulse to be humiliated came and 
passed. There was real honesty in the girl’s tone 
as she said, “ I’d love to have it. I need a thin skirt 
like this, ever so much.” 

The face of Mrs. Dove showed her satisfaction. 
“ It seems sensible to make things serve as long as 
they will,” she said. “ I’m delighted that this can be 


The Luster Pitcher 163 

useful.” Then there was a bit of easy talk over the 
wrapping of the skirt in a neat parcel. Marian took 
it under her arm. A shade of worry showed in Mrs. 
Dove’s gray eyes. “ I always dread Barbara’s day 
out,” she confessed. “ It’s a bother to get the sup- 
per. She stepped to the sitting-room door, and 
called to Agnes, who had been up stairs, reading, 
“ Agnes, dear, can’t you scratch up a bite for supper, 
a little later? ” 

“ M-m-m,” mumbled Agnes from above. 

“ I wish I could help,” thought Marian; “ but if 
I stayed, it would only be another to cook for. It’s 
Agnes this and Agnes that,” she meditated. “ I 
don’t believe they know how they keep at that poor 
youngster.” Her feeling toward the youngest 
Spalding had been growing warmer as time went on. 

When she went out to the porch again, Lola was 
embroidering, and Harvey was deep in a magazine. 
They both walked down to the dock with Marian, 
who laughed about her “ plunder,” as the others so 
often did about theirs. As she pushed her boat off, 
Harvey warned her, “ Look out that the unseen hand 
doesn’t get you.” And he sang, richly rolling 
his r’s, 

“ You’ll find gr-r-round at the bottom, says Br-r-ryan 
O’Lynn! ” 


CHAPTER X 


THE DOVE-COTE RUFFLED 

TN the meantime, no matter what the call might be, 
-*• the garden could not be neglected. The rain fell, 
the sun shone, weeds sprang up, berries ripened, 
regardless of the lure of creek and lake. 

Marian rose early and grubbed industriously in 
the soil, or plucked its fruitage with dexterous fin- 
gers. She loved the morning, — the coolness before 
the sun got high, the long rows of vegetables, neat 
and flourishing, the clusters of fruit with dew upon 
them, the beds and clumps of flowers blooming in 
natural or restricted lavishness. Wild birds, doves, 
and domestic fowls twittered, cooed, and cackled. 
The air was full of sounds and sweetness. Muscles 
were not yet wearied, nor was enjoyment jaded. 
And then there was the thrill of companionship to 
look forward to in the intervals of work, or when 
the day’s tasks were finished. 

The Spaldings were always dashing in at unex- 
pected hours, for supplies, or for a chat, or the 
making of an appointment. It became the custom 
for the Paloma to appear at the landing after 
supper; Marian and her mother would take their 
boat and go out on the water, keeping near the 
Paloma. A running fire of conversation and banter 
passed between the two boats as the dusk fell, and 
the stars came out. Sometimes Harvey would start 
164 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 165 

a song, and they would all join in, lustily or softly, 
according to the cue which the leader gave them. 
Unfortunately, the whole group from Pigeon’s Nest 
could scarcely ever come at once, for Barbara was 
afraid to stay alone, and afraid to go on the water; 
hence some one must of necessity stay with her at 
the cottage. 

Things were going on harmoniously, with no 
portent of trouble, when an incident took place which 
disturbed the serenity of the friends for several days. 
One day, after the bathing hour, Marian and Lola 
were up stairs at Pigeon’s Nest, chattering about 
nothing in particular, in the manner of girls. As 
they came out of Lola’s room, they noted sandy 
tracks of bare wet feet on the upper landing, and saw 
that a soppy dark mass was lying beside Harvey’s 
door, where it had been tossed from inside. 

Lola groaned with irritation. “ Just look! ” she 
sputtered, “ Harve’s gone and left his bathing-suit 
on the floor again. What a mess! He does that 
just to be mean, I do think. Harvey! ” Her voice 
rose sharply. An inarticulate grunt came from 
below stairs. “ Harvey Spalding ! ” 

“Well- 11 , what is it?” The boy’s voice had a 
suspicious tone. 

“ You’ve left your bathing-suit on the floor again,” 
scolded Lola. “ I should think you’d be ashamed.” 

“ I don’t know why. It’s a good suit, isn’t it?” 
The miscreant spoke with cool antagonism. 

“ You needn’t be so rude,” Lola shrilled, with an 
injured accent. Marian, beginning to get uneasy, 
touched her protestingly on the arm. 

“ Rude ! I’d like to know who’s rude,” Harvey 


1 66 Marian F rear’s Rummer 

retorted — “ yelling at a fellow, so that you can be 
heard in the next county. I forgot the bathing-suit 
— I confess it, but that’s no reason why you should 
go at me like that. And anyway, it’s my suit. You 
don’t have to bother with it.” 

“ Yes, it’s your suit,” said Lola bitterly. “ No- 
body else would be so careless. And as for leaving 
it alone, I certainly shall. We women can’t follow 
after you, picking up everything that you choose to 
leave lying around.” 

“ Oh, Lola ! ” responded Harvey wearily, “ we’ve 
talked about it enough. What’s a bathing-suit?” 

“ A wet bathing-suit on the floor is bad enough,” 
said Lola fretfully, “ but if it were only that and 
once in a while, I wouldn’t mind; but if it isn’t one 
thing, it’s another — ” 

“ Don’t bother, Lola,” Marian interrupted in a 
low voice. “ We’ll hang it up, and let it go at that.” 
She was distressed at the squabble which was 
going on. 

“ You’ll do nothing of the kind,” answered Lola 
aloud. “ Harvey’ll hang it up himself. The 
idea!” 

“ What’s that? ” came from below, 

“ Marian wanted to hang it up to dry, just to keep 
the peace,” called Lola. 

Harvey came to the foot of the stairs. “ Well, 
she needn’t,” he shouted. “ I won’t hear of it. I’m 
going to attend to the suit myself, when I get ready. 
I’m sorry I forgot it.” Penitence and stubbornness 
were mingled in his reply. 

“When you get ready!” muttered Lola, exas- 
perated. 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 167 

“ What did you say? ” Harvey turned back to 
the stairs. 

“ I didn’t say anything. I’ve said all I’m going 
to,” Lola sulked. 

“ Thank heaven for that,” Harvey blurted out. 
“ You nag a chap almost to desperation.” 

“ I suppose you’d like to find a garden of cucum- 
bers ! ” Lola taunted him, not without a humorous 
readiness to cease hostilities. 

“ Watermelons would do.” The break of 
laughter in Harvey’s voice portended a return to his 
usual good nature. 

It seemed as if the quarrel had ended with no 
harm done. But just then Mrs. Dove came in from 
the porch, where she had been trying to read and 
sleep. “ What on earth is all this calling back and 
forth? ” she inquired, blinking and bewildered. “ I 
should think that if you wanted to quarrel, you’d at 
least stay on the same floor! ” 

“ Now, I’ll tell you, Aunt Elsie,” Harvey began 
to explain, “ the ladies started it. Lola’s been going 
for me like a Scotch uncle, about nothing at all.” 

Lola came half way down the stairs. “ Aunt 
Elsie,” she said with indignation, “ I think I have a 
right to defend myself when I’m put in the wrong. 
Harvey left his old sopping wet bathing-suit on the 
floor, just as he always does — ” 

Harvey gave a snort of wrath. “ Lola, that’s not 
playing fair,” he cried. “Always does! I always 
will, after this, just to keep you from telling such a 
whopping — ” 

“ Aunt Elsie, are you going to let him talk to me 
like that? ” Lola’s voice quivered. 


1 68 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

“ If you’re going to cry, that settles it,” groaned 
Harvey. 

Mrs. Dove was horrified at the wrangle. “ Now, 
now, children, do let’s stop this right now,” she 
begged, her face pale and worried. “ Harvey, you 
mustn’t get Lola all worked up, — and Lola, you 
ought to have more patience with your brother.” 

“ Aunt Elsie,” Lola began in a tone which implied 
a hundred years of patient martyrdom, “ you know 
yourself that it’s ve-ry seldom I say anything to 
Harvey about his careless habits. But there’s a 
limit to all things. You’re too easy with him, 
Auntie. He gets so that he thinks he can run the 
house.” 

Just then Agnes called out from the porch, “ Oh, 
hush, Lola, and leave Harvey alone. What’s the 
use of talking like that? ” 

“ You always side with him, Ag,” w'ailed Lola, 
ready to cry. 

Harvey stood petrified with disgust. “ I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do,” he said in a dangerously calm 
voice. “ I’ll take my bathing-suit and myself over 
to the Cove, and that’s the last you’ll see of either of 
us — as far as bathing is concerned. I’ll go in, by 
myself, and hang my suit on a tree over there, and 
then we sha’n’t get on your sensitive nerves — for 
the rest of the summer.” 

“ Oh, Harvey, won’t you go in with us? ” Agnes 
came to the sitting-room door, with a book in her 
hand. 

“ No, I certainly shall not inflict myself on people 
who find me so objectionable,” returned Harvey with 
dignity. 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 169 

“ I don’t find you objectionable,” remonstrated 
Agnes. “ And, Harvey — ” 

“ What?” 

“ You were teaching us to swim dog- fashion.” 

“ Marian can teach you. She’s as good a swim- 
mer as I am,” said the boy calmly. “ Where is that 
conf — that before-mentioned bathing-suit? I’ll 
put it where it won’t make any trouble again.” He 
started up the stairs. 

As he passed her, Lola put her hand on his arm. 
“ Don’t be silly, Harve,” she besought him. 

Harvey did not reply, but marched on up the 
stairs. 

“ Oh, goodness me ! what a fuss about nothing,” 
sighed Mrs. Dove, distracted with this family jar. 

“ Excuse me.” Harvey walked past Marian, who 
had stood quaking, while the uproar was going on. 
She now looked as worried and guilty as if she had 
been responsible for the whole disturbance. With 
hardly a glance at her, he took the bathing-suit up, 
held it, dripping, between his thumb and finger, and 
walked down the stairs, with sand and water splotch- 
ing every step. He strode across the living-room 
and out upon the porch, where the sun lay hot along 
the floor; flinging open the screen door, he clattered 
down the steps, and disappeared over the brow of 
the hill which led to the lake. 

Lola stared blankly after him. Agnes, her book 
held against her bosom, watched him with reproach- 
ful eyes. Then she turned to her sister. “ I hope 
you’re satisfied,” she exclaimed with sorrowful in- 
tensity. 

“ Of course ! blame me for it all,” moaned Lola. 


170 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

“ Girls ! ” said Mrs. Dove pleadingly. 

“ I’m sorry, Aunt Elsie,” Lola apologized without 
sincerity. She came back up the stairs, and drew 
Marian into her room again. “ It’s too bad, 
Marian,” she said with tears in her eyes, “ to let you 
see us getting on like this. I told you we had a 
squabble once in a while.” She sat down on the bed. 
Her face was red with vexation, and her hands 
trembled. “ I’m sure I didn’t mean to start such a 
hullabaloo. Do you think I was to blame, 
Marian? ” She looked to her guest for consolation 
in this unpleasant predicament. 

“I — I don’t know. I can’t say. It isn’t right 
for me to take sides.” Marian shrank from involv- 
ing herself in the broil. 

“ I can see that you are taking sides with Harvey,” 
flared Lola. “ You think it’s all right for him to 
leave his wet clothes around on the floor, for other 
people to pick up.” 

“ No, no,” cried Marian nervously, “ of course he 
shouldn’t have done it. But it wasn’t such an awful 
thing, was it? Everybody — ” 

“ Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be, if that was the 
~ only thing he ever did,” conceded Lola. “ But I do 
think I might have a little sympathy. I feel badly 
enough about the whole thing.” Tears came to her 
eyes again. 

“I’m dreadfully sorry — ” Marian began, 
hardly knowing what to say. “ It seems too bad to 
have a fuss, when you’re really so fond of each 
other,” she continued. “ But of course, I don’t 
know much about such things, not having any 
brothers and sisters.” 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 1 7 1 

“ You’re lucky! ” Lola burst out. And then she 
looked ashamed. “ Oh, I don’t mean that,” she 
said, biting her lip. “ Harvey’s so stubborn when 
he gets his feelings hurt. I wish I hadn’t said any- 
thing ” she murmured. 

“ Well, maybe he’ll get over it. Don’t worry,” 
Marian advised, though she was scandalized, her- 
self. “ I must go home, now.” She felt as if she 
had had quite enough of other people’s complications. 

“ You’ll be sure to come over and go bathing with 
us to-morrow, won’t you?” urged Lola. “ We’ll 
really need you.” 

“ Yes, if mother can spare me,” Marian promised, 
with a heavy heart. 

The next afternoon, at half-past three, she came 
over, rowing in her bathing-suit. Agnes was seated 
disconsolately on the dock, kicking her heels against 
a cleat. “ Lola’s crying because Harvey’s gone to 
the Cove to swim,” she said with a grin. “ What a 
silly performance? Don’t you think so? ” 

“ Isn’t she coming down? ” asked Marian, without 
answering the question. 

“ Oh, yes, I guess so. I don’t think she can 
resist,” responded Agnes. “ Besides, she asked you 
to go in with us. Here she comes ! ” 

Lola came slowly down the hill, her eyes red. 
“ Hello, Marian,” she called. 

“ Hello ! Are you ready to go in? ” queried the 
guest, as the other girl approached. 

“ Yes. I thought at first that I wouldn’t, but 
what’s the use of cutting off your nose to spite your 
face?” 

“ Harvey won’t go in? ” 


172 Marian F rear’s Summer 

“ No,” Lola sighed. “ He’s hardly said a word 
since yesterday, and he’s gone around with a haughty 
air, as if he were the Bishop of Rumptyfoo. I 
don’t care. He needn’t expect me to apologize to 
him. I haven’t done anything — much.” 

“ Never mind,” said Marian. “ We’ll have a 
good time together. Come on in.” She leaped in 
from the end of the dock, and Lola followed, Agnes 
coming after. Marian began teaching Agnes to 
tread water, and Lola cautiously swam out into blue 
water, and then swam hurriedly back. There was 
a kind of unspoken restlessness among them; they all 
kept glancing up the hill, as if they expected Harvey 
to appear. 

After a while, Mrs. Dove came to the top of the 
hill. “ Come on up, girls,” she called. “ You’ve 
been in long enough. Barbara’s making iced tea for 
you.” 

Over the tea and cakes, there was chatter enough, 
but the worried sense of something lacking remained. 
Marian went home before Harvey came back. All 
the rest of the day she was busy helping her mother 
with pickling. Another day passed. Agnes and 
Lola rowed over in the Paloma f dawdled miserably 
about, and then rowed home again. 

The next morning, early, Marian was out putting 
Paris green on the potatoes while they were damp 
with dew. It was necessary to put on the poison 
either in the morning or the evening, so that the 
powder would stick to the leaves. It was a glorious 
morning, cool and exhilarating. The low white mist 
had not yet disappeared from the meadow, nor the 
blue stillness from the lake. 


i73 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 

While Marian was tramping down a row, shaking 
the lime and Paris green from a cheesecloth sack, she 
heard a faint melodious whistle. She was surprised, 
for it sounded like Harvey’s, and she scarcely 
thought that he would be out at this early hour. 
Then through the quiet air came the plash and 
creak of oars. Presently, out of the path under the 
bird-cherry trees came Harvey, singing in an under- 
tone a gay little song, the words of which Marian 
could not distinguish. At first the lad did not see 
her, but stopped and looked back through a rift in 
the branches, toward the smooth gleaming water. 
Then he came on again, singing. All at once he 
spied the girl in the garden. “ Whoo-hoo 1 ” he 
called jubilantly. 

“ Whoo-hoo ! ” Marian returned, going steadily 
on with her work. Harvey came toward her, brush- 
ing through the high wet grass. He leaned for a 
moment on the fence. 

“ Well, you are the early bird ! ” he cried in a tone 
of admiration. 

“ I’m not after worms, though,” she answered 
with a return of shyness, — “ it’s potato-bugs ! ” 

“ Not so acceptable as the early worm, I’m sure,” 
he replied, “ especially with the flavor you’re giving 
them.” He vaulted over the fence. “ Here, let 
me take that thing,” he said, reaching for the bag. 

“ Oh, I can do it.” Marian held the sack away 
from him, and continued to shake it over the spread- 
ing plants. 

“ Don’t be obstinate, Miss,” the boy commanded. 
“ Give it to me.” 

“ All right, if you must have it.” Marian smiled 


174 Marian F rear's Summer 

at him across the creamy potato blossoms; “but it 
seems to me that I’m not the only obstinate one.” 

“Who you ’ludin’ at?” asked Harvey. With- 
out waiting for an answer, he took the bag and 
walked to the end of the row, shaking the powder 
upon the leaves. 

“ How do you happen to be out so early? ” asked 
Marian, as he ca-me back to her end of the row. 

“ It was such a scrumptious morning that I 
couldn’t stay in bed. I went out for a row in the 
Paloma, and when I got over this way, I thought I’d 
come ashore just on the chance that you’d be up. 
Perhaps you think I came to cop a few onions when 
there was nobody around — eh?” he added mis- 
chievously. 

“ Yes, that’s what I suspected.” Marian was 
entirely at her ease again. 

“ It’s mean of you, spying about to see what I 
was going to take.” Harvey turned, and went on 
with his task of disposing of the small yellow beetles 
which had attacked the potato plants. Marian 
watched him as he went up two or three rows, and 
back. There were not many rows in that particular 
patch. He walked briskly, tramping into the dark 
wet earth with his heavy shoes. His canvas puttees 
were soaked with the dew which the grass had left 
upon them. 

“ Done ! ” he called, as he neared the end of the 
last row. “ That didn’t take long.” 

Marian looked toward the house. Thin blue 
smoke was rising from the chimney. She knew that 
her mother was up and busy. “ Have you had your 
breakfast? ” she asked of Harvey. 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 175 

“ Nary a bite. Every one was sound asleep when 
I came out,” the boy hurried to reply. 

“ Neither have I. I wanted to do this while the 
dew was on,” said Marian. “ Come on in and have 
breakfast with us.” 

“ Don’t ask me twice ! ” cried Harvey. 

“ I hope I don’t have to,” Marian answered. 

“ I’ll say you don’t. Where do we put this 
thing? ” was the response. 

“ We’ll hang it in the shed.” They put away the 
sack and the Paris green, and approached the kitchen 
door. 

Mrs. Frear looked up from the stove. “ Just in 
time! ” she said graciously. “I was about to call 
Marian.” She brought clean towels from the 
drawer, and went back to her cooking, while the two 
young people washed the stain of toil from their 
hands. 

“ I certainly am hungry,” confessed the girl. 

“ I’m a wild tiger,” Harvey assured her, sniffing 
at the coffee and bacon. 

Breakfast was set in the sitting-room, on the round 
table. Two red poppies in a glass vase gave a spot 
of color to the board. Marian had been careful to 
have flowers always in the house, since she had been 
at th*e Spaldings’. 

The first course was dew-berries, big and black, 
with sugar and cream. Then came scrambled-eggs 
and bacon, with toast and coffee. The sunlight 
glinted in, over the white cloth. The faded carpet 
and cushions and wall-paper took on a fresher glow. 
Rosy-Nosey, as a special favor, was allowed to lap 
her milk beside Marian’s chair, instead of in the 


176 Marian F rear's Summer 

kitchen. There was a homely happiness about the 
whole scene. 

After a while, the conversation touched on the 
events of the last few days. “ Did you have a good 
swim yesterday? ” asked Harvey, pouring cream into 
his second cup of coffee. 

“ M-m-yes, pretty good,” Marian replied. “ The 
girls missed you. Did you like it at the Cove ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, it wasn’t bad. I frisked around for 
a while. But it’s been beastly lonesome — two days 
of it, and more to come.” 

“ I don’t see why you — ” Marian began. She 
had hardly known whether to mention the 
“ rumpus,” as Lola called it. 

“ I can’t stay where I’m going to be nagged all 
the time,” said Harvey sulkily. 

“Who nags you?” Mrs. Frear looked over at 
him with clear and friendly eyes. 

Her direct question rather took the boy aback. 
“ Oh, the girls,” he stammered, getting red. 
“ Lola, to be exact. She and I had a — a sort of a 
falling-out.” 

“Can’t you fall back in again?” Mrs. Frear 
smiled as she passed him the toast. 

“Thank you.” He took a piece absently. “It 
isn’t easy,” he returned. “ When you get started 
with a quarrel, you — er — keep it up, you know.” 

“Why?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. You hate to admit that 
you’re in the wrong. And when you aren’t, there’s 
no use in being sentimental and taking the blame on 
yourself.” 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 177 

Marian sat breaking off bits of toast and saying 
nothing. 

“ Then you weren’t to blame,” said Mrs. Frear 
in a tone of relief. “ That’s goodl ” 

Harvey looked over at her, flushing. He was 
silent for a moment, while he shifted uncomfortably 
in his chair. “ We-ell,” he said slowly, “ of course, 
I might have been a little bit to blame, in a sort of 
a way. The truth is, I chucked my wet bathing-suit 
out on the landing, and forgot about it until Lola 
came upstairs and found it. It was a rather horrible 
thing to do.” 

“ It wasn’t very nice,” agreed Mrs. Frear deci- 
sively. 

Harvey started, and looked more confused. Per- 
haps he had expected to have his fault condoned. 

“ N-no, but I honestly didn’t mean to leave it,” 
he said; “ and Lola got peeved and yow-yowed — I 
mean, she complained bitterly about it.” 

“ Naturally she wasn’t pleased,” interpolated 
Mrs. Frear. “ And one word led on to another.” 

“ Yes.” Harvey shot her a glance from his 
worried blue eyes. 

“ And you both said things you didn’t mean 
at all.” 

“ No, of course we didn’t mean ’em,” Harvey 
murmured. “ I don’t see why people say such 
things.” 

“ I don’t, either,” said Mrs. Frear. “ We hardly 
ever suffer from saying too little.” 

“ I can’t recollect that I ever did,” Harvey 
grinned, looking over at Marian. 


178 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

“ Well, after we’ve said too much, the next thing 
is to repair the damage as completely as possible,” 
suggested the hostess, 

“ I suppose so.” Harvey looked troubled as he 
drank his coffee. “ But you wouldn’t expect me to 
go to Lola and make a lot of apologies, would you ? ” 

“ Why not? ” answered Mrs. Frear quickly. “ It 
seems to me that a man ought to be willing to be 
especially generous.” 

“ Er — that’s just what my mother would have 
said.” Harvey sat with clouded face, his hands idle 
in his lap. 

Mrs. Frear was wise enough not to say any more. 
There was a pause. “ Won’t you have some eggs 
or toast, or something? ” she asked hospitably. 

“ No, thank you,” the boy replied. He looked 
thoughtfully at Marian, who had sat silent during the 
conversation. “ What’s next on the program? ” 
he asked. “ Any more dear little pests to make an 
end of?” 

“ Not this morning.” Marian roused herself at 
his words. “ I was going to row over to the slope 
where the spring is, on the west side of the lake — 
Bunce’s Bank, we call that place — and pick blue- 
berries. Mother is going to make some pies out of 
the berries, and can some for next winter.” 

“ I’ll tell you what would be a good stunt,” cried 
Harvey suddenly; “ we’ll row over and get Lola, and 
then we’ll go to Bunce’s Bank, and all pick.” 

“ And take your lunch,” added Mrs. Frear. 

“ That would be still more magnificent ! ” 

“ I’ll put up something,” promised the lady. 
“ There’s no hurry. It’s early yet.” 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 179 

Harvey and Marian jumped up and began clearing 
off the table, while Mrs. Frear busied herself in the 
kitchen. A basket was packed with hard-boiled 
eggs, sandwiches, cake, and cheese. 

“ You must leave something for our share,” 
Harvey remarked. 

u You don’t need to bother, this time,” was the 
reply. “ I’m sorry we can’t make this more 
elaborate, as we might have done if we had 
planned it.” 

Marian washed the dishes, while Harvey helped 
Mrs. Frear with the things which Mr. Grant was to 
take to town. The sun had climbed higher, and the 
day promised to be warm. 

It was after nine o’clock when Harvey and 
Marian started for the landing, with th,e lunch- 
basket and the pails for berries. “ Your mother is 
a convincing sort of woman,” said Flarvey as he 
took up the oars of the Paloma. 

“ Yes, she is,” assented Marian, “ when it comes 
to advice about doing the square thing.” 

No more was said about the matter in hand, until 
they had reached Pigeon’s Nest. Lola stood on the 
porch as they ascended the hill. She spoke cordially 
to Marian, but looked uncomfortable at the sight of 
Harvey. She unlatched the screen door for them, 
and they came in. 

Harvey stood for a moment, gazing at her 
shyly. Then he slipped his arm around her 
waist, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “ Don’t 
let’s be mad any more, Lola-kid,” he said. “ I 
was a pig, and I’m as sorry as I can be that I 
kicked up such a row. It was all my fault for leav- 


180 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

ing my stuff around under foot. I don’t blame you 
in the least.” 

Lola’s lips were quivering. u Oh, Harvey! ” she 
exclaimed, clinging to his arm, “ I’m so ashamed of 
myself, for being such a disagreeable minx ! I know 
I ought to be more patient with you, and not say 
such sharp things. But somehow — ” 

“ It’s all right,” her brother interrupted. 
“ There’s no use in keeping up a lot of foolishness. 
It’s my place to be more thoughtful,” he went on 
soberly. “ I’m the head of the family, in a way, 
when father’s not here — but I’m a mighty poor 
head, I’m afraid.” 

“ You’re a dear, Harve, most of the time.” Lola 
tousled Harvey’s hair with sisterly insolence. “ We 
couldn’t get along without you.” 

“ Probably you won’t have to. Ouch ! ” cried 
Harvey. u Listen, Lola, what do you say ? We’ve 
got a lunch, that Mrs. Frear put up, and we’re going 
over to Bunce’s Bank, if you know where that is, to 
pick blueberries — ” 

“ Oh, jolly! ” Lola clapped her hands. 

“ And then, what do you say to this, Lo? Shall 
we all come back here, and go in bathing? ” 

“ Let’s ! ” Lola spoke as if going in bathing were 
a most original procedure — a special treat for that 
day. “ And, Harvey, will you teach me to swim 
dog-fashion? Marian says it’s a lot easier than the 
other way.” 

“ I’m doggoned if I don’t, and it’s dogged as does 
it,” laughed her brother. “ Now, go and put on 
some other shoes. You can’t scrabble around 
among the blueberries in those Cinderella things.” 


The Dove-Cote Ruffled 1 8 1 

Lola turned to go up stairs, calling over her 
shoulder as she went, “ Harve, you are a nice 
thing! ” which was the extreme of fraternal praise 
among the Spaldings. 


CHAPTER XI 


HOPES AND PLANS 

T HE harmony which ensued after the quarrel 
was disturbed only by the tribulations of 
Barbara. 

One afternoon, when Marian came into the house 
after some out-door tasks, her mother said happily, 
“ I have a surprise for you.” 

“Oh, what is it, mother?” Marian questioned 
eagerly; and then her eyes lighted upon a basket 
covered with a white cloth and standing on the 
kitchen table. 

“ Here’s a picnic supper for you and Lola and 
Agnes,” Mrs. Frear explained. “ You enjoyed the 
picnic at Bunce’s Bank so much that I thought you 
and the girls would like to go out to-day by your- 
selves, and have a little good time.” 

“Oh, how splendid!” Marian fumbled at the 
white cloth on the basket. 

“ You mustn’t look.” Mrs. Frear restrained her. 
“ Now this is the way it is : I spoke to Lola about 
it yesterday, and she’s expecting you. I told her 
that you would come over with your boat and get her 
and Agnes, so that Harvey could use the Paloma 
if he wanted to.” 

“ Aren’t you a sly mother, making all those 
arrangements behind my back! ” Marian squeezed 
her mother’s arm. “ But how about you? Don’t 
182 


Hopes and Plans 183 

you want to join our picnic? It seems mean to leave 
you out.” 

“ I was going to tell you, if you’d give me a 
chance,” Mrs. Frear went on. “ Mr. Grant said 
yesterday that he was going to drive in to-day and 
get me and take me over to see Mrs. Grant, and 
they wanted me to stay to supper. He’ll bring me 
back about dusk. I’m expecting him almost any 
minute now. They asked you, too, but I was already 
planning the picnic; so I told him you had another 
engagement.” 

“That sounds quite elegant — for me, when I 
never have any,” laughed the girl. “ But it is nicer. 
Mrs. Grant would probably rather talk with you, 
and not have me hanging around; and honestly, 
mother, it may be horrid of me, but I don’t like to 
listen to all her aches and pains. I don’t see why 
people talk about such things so much.” 

“ I don’t suppose they realize how much they do 
it,” sighed Mrs. Frear. “ I think it would be better 
for Mrs. Grant if she didn’t keep dwelling on her 
afflictions; and that’s one reason why I’m willing to 
go. I always try to get her to think and talk about 
something else.” 

“ It’s awfully good of you, and they do appreciate 
your going over,” Marian replied. “ But I’m just 
delighted to go on a picnic with the Spalding girls. 
I suppose I ought to get cleaned up, and start over 
there about five.” 

“ A little before, if you can,” Mrs. Frear 
returned. “ And I do hope you’ll like the lunch.” 

“ As if we wouldn’t! ” Marian looked reproach- 
ful. “ Here comes Mr. Grant, now.” 


184 Marian Frear’s Summer 

When her mother had gone, Marian made herself 
ready in white blouse and blue serge skirt, and 
walked down to the landing with her basket, con- 
scientiously refraining from peeping in to see what 
food had been provided. The row across the lake 
seemed short, as it did nowadays, because she had 
so many things to think about. She found Lola and 
Agnes waiting for her on the porch, where Mrs. 
Dove was doing a bit of leisurely needlework. 

“ Oh, I want a drink of water before we start,” 
said Lola. She and Marian went out through the 
dining-room to the kitchen. At once their ears were 
assailed by the sound of sobbing outside the door. 

Stepping to the screen, they saw Barbara sitting 
hunched up on the back steps, her hands over her 
face. Her shoulders were heaving rather ostenta- 
tiously, as if she were not sorry to have the girls as 
witnesses to her misery. 

“ What in the world — ” began Marian. 

“Whatever is the matter, Barbara?” queried 
Lola. The colored girl sobbed on, rubbing her eyes 
with her handkerchief. “What is it?” Lola con- 
tinued. “ Do tell us. Has any one been unkind to 
you? ” 

“ No, no, Miss Lola,” the girl made reluctant 
reply, “ everybody’s been jus’ as good as they could 
be. They’s been too good.” 

“ Too good? Why, what do you mean? ” asked 
Lola, mystified. 

Barbara wiped her eyes and swallowed hard. 
“ I’m ashamed to tell your Auntie, — she’s been so 
nice to me — but I can’t stand it here, nohow — I 
can’t stand it.” The maid’s voice rose in self-pity. 


Hopes and Plans 185 

“Why not?” Lola spoke sympathetically, 
though she already knew the answer. 

“ I’m so lonesome — them frogs — them whitey 
owls — the dark woods, — that there thunder and 
lightning, — I ain’t used to no such things. I want 
folks! ” Barbara’s voice became a cry. 

“ But there are folks here,” argued Lola weakly. 
She felt Barbara’s case to be overwhelmingly just. 

“Not my kind o } folks!” The cry became a 
wail. 

The girls fell silent. Marian’s heart jumped in 
sympathy with the colored maid. She herself knew 
what it was to be hungry for one’s own kind. She 
and Lola looked at each other behind Barbara’s 
back. “ Well, well,” said Lola at last, “ I suppose 
you are lonesome. I don’t see why you have to stay 
if you don’t want to.” 

“ But there’s Miss Elsie,” Barbara said with 
hesitation. “ She don’t like housework. It don’t 
seem right — ” There was, however, a suppressed 
joy in her tone. 

“ We’ll get along somehow,” Lola assured her. 
“ I’ll go and talk with Mrs. Dove. You want to go 
and visit your sister in Chicago, I dare say, until we 
get ready to go home? ” 

Barbara had stopped crying, and was pulling the 
corner of her damp handkerchief. “ Yas’m, that’s 
what I was thinkin’,” she answered in haste. “ If 
your Auntie — ” She gulped and began using her 
handkerchief again. 

“ I’ll see Auntie.” 

The two girls went back through the house, to the 
porch. Mrs. Dove had a little pile of pale pink silk 


1 86 


Marian Frear's Summer 


and narrow filet lace in her lap, and was taking care- 
ful stitches in some article of feminine apparel. She 
looked up inquiringly as the girls stood before her. 

“ Aunt Elsie,” Lola began, “ Barbara’s been cry- 
ing like mad, out on the back steps.” 

Mrs. Dove put her gold thimble on the table, and 
began to gather up the pink silk. “ Is anything 
wrong?” she asked. And then she gave a groan. 
“ I know what it is, of course. She wants to get 
away from here.” 

“ Yes, she does,” Lola admitted. “ She says she 
wants her own kind of folks ! ” 

Mrs. Dove smiled wryly. “ We all do,” she 
remarked. “ I suppose she’ll have to go.” Her 
chin quivered. “ What under the sun we’ll do with- 
out her, I don’t know.” 

“ It’s too bad, Auntie, dear,” said Lola. “ I 
know you don’t like housework, but Agnes and I’ll 
do all we can — ” 

“ Speak for yourself, Lo,” put in Agnes, who had 
been alertly listening to what was said. Her brown 
eyes twinkled as she spoke, for she was well aware 
that her share in the household labors would not be 
small. 

“ And Harvey will help, I know he will,” the older 
girl went on, without paying any attention to Agnes. 
u We can’t keep Barbara here, like a chained galley 
slave.” 

“ Mercy ! What a way of putting it,” Mrs. Dove 
exclaimed. “ No, I should say we couldn’t. I’ll go 
and talk to her.” She rose resignedly, and made 
her way to the kitchen. She came back drooping. 
“ She’s to go to-morrow, if we can get that Erickson 


Hopes and Plans 187 

boy to take her to the station. It does seem 
hard.” The lady took up the pink silk. “ We’ll 
have to make the best of it.” 

“ Anyhow, I’m glad I’ve had domestic science,” 
commented Lola, and Aggie-Dear will be a perfect 
little whirlwind in the kitchen,” she added teasingly. 

“ Aggie-Dear will run away from home, or jump 
into the lake, or something, if you go on insulting 
her,” retorted Agnes angrily. There were times 
when the worm turned and writhed under oppression. 

“ Don’t say such things, Agnes, I beg you,” ad- 
monished Mrs. Dove, frowning over her sewing. 
“ Be a lady if you can.” 

“ My sister’ll have to set me a better example,” 
muttered Agnes. 

“ Don’t you think we’d better go on? ” suggested 
Marian. “ It’s getting rather late.” 

“ I put up a thermos bottle of lemonade, and 
nearly forgot it,” Lola cried, as they were starting. 
“ Agnes, run back and get it, that’s an angel.” 

“ If I were an angel, I’d fly,” Agnes grumbled. 
“ I wish I had wings. I need ’em.” She went 
slowly back to the kitchen, and got the thermos 
bottle, and then followed the other girls down the 
hill. Marian opened her lips to say something about 
the unfair demands which were so thoughtlessly put 
upon the younger sister; but closed them again, for 
she hardly dared to say what she had in mind. 

Marian and Agnes rowed across the lake to the 
west side, north of the tamarack swamp, where 
among scattered trees there were the scanty remains 
of an old house, long ruined and abandoned. It was 
a quiet, secure place, with sloping banks in front, and 


1 88 Marian Frear’s Summer 

weed-grown fields and gnarled apple-trees behind. 
The girls clambered up the hill, and deposited their 
basket and bottle on the grass. 

“ I think there’s a paper under the cloth,” said 
Agnes ; “ a note or something. I see a corner stick- 
ing out.” 

Marian investigated, and found a note from her 
mother. “ I’ve put in a jar of creamed potatoes,” 
the note ran, “ and a basin. I thought it would be 
fun to make a fire and have one warm dish for your 
supper. The matches are in a box, tied to the 
handle of the basket. Be sure to set the basin 
solidly on some stones or bricks, so that it won’t 
tip over. And be careful about the fire ! Love to 
you all. I hope you will have a good time. 
K. L. F.” 

“ How lovely of her,” said Lola. “ Now, that’s 
a mother worth having. Let’s see. This is the jar 
of potatoes.” She lifted out a glass jar with a tight 
cover. 

Marian was reaching into, the basket for the 
matches, and Agnes was already rushing to the 
ruins of the house, for bricks with which to build a 
fire-place. For the next half hour, the girls were 
absorbed in the task of fitting together bricks and 
stones for a rude stove, gathering dry twigs, lighting 
the fire, and heating up the rich creamy mass which 
they poured out of the jar. 

“ This is a lot more fun than just eating the cold 
lunch out of the basket,” meditated Agnes, poking 
the fire with unnecessary vigor, “ and I thought that 
would be fun enough. It’s so still here, and so green 
and beautiful.” 


Hopes and Plans 189 

“ I always loved picnics,” said Lola, “ and we 
don’t have half enough -of them. I’m so glad we 
could have this — just we girls, by ourselves. And 
Harvey’s off bass-fishing, so his feelings aren’t hurt.” 

“It is good to be here, isn’t it?” murmured 
Marian. The other girls could not know how much 
it meant to her to be out having a good time like this, 
with lively and interesting companions. “ It’s so 
different since you came ! ” 

“We’re glad we found you,” commented Agnes, 
in her blunt way. 

Marian could not answer. She bustled about, 
spreading a white cloth on the grass, and taking out 
the dainties which loving hands had prepared. 
There were paper plates, clean and light, to eat the 
creamed potatoes and the salad from, and three 
Canton cups for the lemonade. 

“ Your mother shouldn’t have given us these dear 
old cups,” protested Lola. 

“ I think she thought we’d enjoy our picnic better, 
and be more careful of everything, if she trusted us 
with something nice,” responded Marian wisely. 
“ I know mother.” 

The feast was now ready, and the picnickers sat 
about comfortably on the grass, eating and drinking 
at their leisure. At first they did not feel much like 
talking, for they were hungry, and the stillness of the 
remote place subdued them. But when the meal 
was partly over, their tongues were loosened, and 
they settled down for a good old-fashioned girlish 
chat. 

“ Your mother’s such a good cook, and such a per- 
fect housekeeper ! ” said Lola. “ Aunt Elsie can’t 


190 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

bear housekeeping. -She does, it well enough — but 
there’s a difference. After mother went,” she added 
reminiscently, “ we had a number of women to run 
the house and look after us.” 

“ We had a horrid woman,” Agnes interrupted 
her. 

“ Oh, Agnes ! ” Lola reproached her sister. 

“ Well, shewasn’t good to us, Lo, you know that,” 
Agnes went on. “ She wasn’t a ‘ real lady.’ Her 
manners were awful, and she was as mean to us — ” 

“ Father was nearly frantic,” Lola agreed. 
“ Every time he came home, we had some harrowing 
tale to tell him.” She accepted a frosted nut-cake 
which Marian held out to her. 

“My! what scrumptious cake!” interpolated 
Agnes, setting her teeth into the. soft firm icing of 
her share. 

“ Aunt Elsie’s had enough of it,” Lola continued; 
“ I’m sure she feels that way, though she doesn’t 
say anything. But I suppose it will all work out,” 
she remarked, as if she feared burdening Marian 
with these family details. 

“ Just think ! It’s getting on toward the time 
when we’ll have to go ‘ back to the mines,’ as 
Harvey says; he means school,” Agnes explained to 
Marian, “ and you’d think he hated it, but he’s crazy 
over it, and can hardly wait to get back. I’m not so 
keen, myself.” 

“ Do you remember your asking me why I didn’t 
go to school? ” Marian looked over at Agnes, who 
was holding her last bite of cake in her sticky fingers. 

The young girl flushed darkly. “I — I’m sorry 


Hopes and Plans 191 

if I was rude,” she stammered. “ I didn’t under- 
stand. I thought everybody went to school.” 

“ You’ve been spoiled,” Lola frowned at her 
sister. “ What were you saying, Marian? ” 

“ I’ve been thinking that perhaps mother and I 
could arrange things so that I could go to the high 
school at Willford, this fall,” said Marian. “ Oh, 
do have one of these pickles ! We’ve been talking 
about it, and we’re not sure, but we think we can 
manage it.” She did not feel so shy of telling how 
hard it was to “ manage ” as she once would have 
felt. 

“ Oh, I hope you can.” Lola beamed at her 
friend. “But what will your mother do?” she 
asked quickly. 

“ She’ll go, too,” answered Marian — “ not to the 
high school, of course.” She and Agnes giggled. 
“ But we could get a room or two, and do ‘ light 
housekeeping,’ — isn’t that what they call it? ” 

Lola’s eyes shone. “ Oh, that would be fine,” she 
cried. “ It would give your mother a change, and 
she could make friends. She likes people so much.” 

“ We haven’t argued it all out yet,” Marian said, 
absently pouring more lemonade into Agnes’s cup. 
“ But ” — her voice faltered — “ I feel so ignorant 
and so frightened. I don’t know how I’d get along 
in a whole big school full of strangers.” 

“ You’re just as good as any one, in any old high 
school,” Agnes blurted out, pausing with her cup in 
her hand. “ You needn’t take a back seat for any 
of them.” 

Marian smiled at her champion. “ That’s nice 


192 Marian F rear’s Summer 

of you, Agnes,” she answered; “but I really am 
scared. It seems as if I don’t know much of any- 
thing. Of course, I have my certificate from the 
country school, so that I could enter the high school 
at Willford. But I wondered if I could possibly 
finish the course in less than four years. I don’t 
know enough about those things to even make any 
plans.” 

“You’re way beyond the ordinary freshman!” 
cried Lola excitedly. “ You could more than just 
enter, I feel sure.” 

“ Why, I’m a sophomore, myself,” said Agnes, 
“ and you know heaps more than I do.” 

Marian twisted her paper napkin nervously. 
“ Maybe — about swimming and birds and cab- 
bages,” she remarked: “but those things don’t 
happen to be in the course of study.” 

“ Then they ought to be,” asserted Agnes. 

“ But there is a course in agriculture, isn’t there? ” 
asked Lola, eager to encourage. “You could pass 
that without turning your hand over.” 

“ That ought to come easily,” Marian admitted; 
“ but there are other things — algebra, and history, 
and literature, and composition.” 

“You’ve had algebra, haven’t you?” Lola in- 
quired. 

“ Yes, I had a little in the country school, and I 
worked through the whole book by myself, in the 
evenings. It was hard, but I liked it. It was sort 
of thrilling to see whether I could get the answer 
the first time, or not.” 

“ I’ll bet that you could pass an examination in it, 
and get credit,” hazarded Lola. 


193 


Hopes and Plans 

“ I’d have to brush up a lot,” said Marian, as if 
weighing her knowledge of algebra in the balance. 

“Let Harvey help you,” Lola suggested; “he’s 
a shark at mathematics, and he’d like to teach some 
one. Boys always like to show that they know more 
than some one else — especially a girl,” she added, 
with the terrible discernment of sisters. 

“ I couldn’t have him using his vacation in that 
way.” Marian shrank from accepting too many 
favors from the Spaldings, and particularly from 
Harvey. 

“ It wouldn’t hurt him any,” sniffed Agnes. 

Marian had a sinking feeling when she remem- 
bered how far these young people had gone beyond 
her. The prospect of going to school was dimmed 
by the fear of humiliation and ridicule. 

But Lola was eagerly continuing to explain to 
Marian how slight the difficulties really were — at 
least in Lola’s eyes. “ There are the literature and 
composition. You’ve read the Lady of the Lake, 
and that sort of thing, and I know that you can 
write — ” 

“ Why, you don’t at all,” gasped Marian. 
“ You’ve hardly seen anything that I’ve written.” 

“ I know you can, anyhow,” Lola retorted, “ from 
the way you talk and appreciate things, and the love 
you have for reading.” 

“ It’s too bad you aren’t the examiner,” Marian 
responded; “ if you were, I’d pass on a hundred.” 

“ I’ll tell you what you do,” broke in Agnes, with 
the air of an oracle; “ you write out something, or 
dig up something that you’ve already written, and 
show it to Aunt Elsie. She’s awfully keen on good 


194 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

writing — I mean the words, not the hen-tracks. If 
she says you’re all right, you are, believe me! ” 

“ Agnes, you’re horribly slangy, but you do have a 
gleam of sense once in a while,” said Lola in a scold- 
ing tone tempered by approval. “ That’s just the 
thing for Marian to do. Aunt Elsie never minces 
matters. She says what she thinks, if she sees any 
use in saying it.” 

“ I couldn’t stand it to hear what she thinks about 
my writing.” Marian grew red, and moved the 
dishes nervously. 

“Nonsense! Whatever she says wouldn’t hurt 
you. You will do it, won’t you?” Lola wheedled 
her new friend. “ I think they’ll let you enter the 
second year in the high school, and trust you to make 
up what you haven’t credit for.” 

“ We’ll see, we’ll see,” answered the country 
girl, fearing that she had made too much of her 
affairs. “ Won’t somebody have something more? ” 
She returned belatedly to her duties as a hostess. 

“ I couldn’t eat another thing. But it’s been 
delicious,” Lola sighed. 

“ It’s too bad there’s such a lot left.” Agnes sur- 
veyed the table and the basket with an expression of 
regret. 

While they sat there, enjoying the fresh breeze, 
and the stillness of the late afternoon, the sound of 
a squirrel chattering indignantly roused them from 
their silence. “What is that noise?” asked Lola, 
looking apprehensively toward the forest. 

“ It’s a squirrel. He acts as if he heard some- 
thing he didn’t like,” Marian replied. 


i95 


Hopes and Plans 

“Hush! I hear something, too,” exclaimed 
Agnes. Faint sounds, as if made by some person or 
animal pushing through the underbrush, came to 
their ears. 

Lola looked alarmed. “ What do you suppose it 
is, Marian? ” she asked, in an agitated voice. 

“ A cow, maybe,” Marian made response, her 
aspect undisturbed; “ or maybe a man.” 

“ Oh, dear! I hope it isn’t either.” Lola began 
to look around for a refuge. 

“ Marian wouldn’t let either of ’em hurt us,” said 
Agnes, hitching over a little nearer to her protector. 

They sat waiting, their faces intent with this 
momentary mystery. Then the figure of a man 
emerged from the woods and began to walk across 
the weedy field behind the ruined house. His form 
was vaguely visible among the low branches of the 
apple-trees. 

“ What can he want? ” whispered Lola, clutching 
at the grass with nervous fingers. 

Marian drew a long breath of mingled relief and 
vexation. “ It’s Carl Erickson,” she said aloud. 
“ I don’t see what he’s doing here.” 

“ Oh! that Erickson boy! ” Lola remarked com- 
prehendingly. “ He’s perfectly harmless.” 

The young man came on, toward the little group 
sitting on the grass. He walked heavily, as if weary 
with his day’s work, and carried his hat languidly in 
his hand, for coolness. He paused at the house, and 
then came forward, pushing aside the branches as he 
approached the three girls on the edge of the bank. 

“ Huh ! ” He stood regarding them, his sullen 


196 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

face and light unkempt hair framed among the green 
boughs. A slow gleam of recognition came into his 
eyes. 

“ Oh, it’s you, Carl,” said Marian, looking up at 
him. There was not enough friendliness in her tone. 

“ Yes, it’s me,” he answered gruffly. 

“ How do you do? ” said Lola, in her easy man- 
ner. “ You remember the Spaldings. You hauled 
our things from Willford.” 

“ Yes. I remember.” The awkward overgrown 
fellow stood breathing heavily, hardly knowing what 
to say. “ I was walking back from Hans Marcus- 
son’s,” he explained; “been working there to-day. 
I saw the smoke, and didn’t know what was going on 
— I thought I’d come and see.” His eyes wandered 
to Marian again. 

“ We just built up a little fire for our supper. 
Look.” She pointed to the rude stove. “ We 
weren’t going to let the fire run.” She knew the 
dread which the country-folk felt for running fires 
in woods and fields. 

“ Oh.” The young man stood with his form 
sagging wearily to one side. The three girls sat 
looking at him with antagonism in their eyes. 

Then Marian, scanning him more keenly, felt her 
antipathy melting away. He looked tired, after the 
long hot day in the harvest field. He had a loutish 
repellent exterior, but under it the girl detected a 
hint of wistfulness. He stared moodily at the white 
cloth, with its few blue dishes, at the food remain- 
ing, and at the red coals of the fire. Slowly it 
dawned upon Marian as she sat gazing at him that 
even Carl Erickson might be hungry in the way that 


Hopes and Plans 


1 97 


she had been — hungry for something besides hard 
work and narrow living. 

“ Have you had your supper, Carl?” she asked 
suddenly, with a new kindness in her voice. 

u Me? ” He looked at her with almost a tinge 
of suspicion. “ No, I haven’t. The Marcussons 
had to go away — somebody sick, or something — 
and I said I’d go home for supper. I s’pose I’d 
better go.” He moved reluctantly backward, turn- 
ing to leave the scene. 

“Wait. There’s plenty here — mother put up 
such a lot,” cried Marian. “ Won’t you stay and 
have it?” She found herself speaking with real 
cordiality. 

The boy’s face grew less clouded. “ Why-y, you 
don’t want me at your picnic, do you?” he stam- 
mered. He looked down at his heavy shoes, soiled 
with earth, and at his blue overalls, with the signs 
of toil upon them. 

Lola had caught something of Marian’s idea. 
“ Of course we do,” she put in with a friendly smile. 
“ It’s nice to have some one drop in, like neighbors, 
you know.” She made a gesture of welcome. “ Do 
stay,” she urged. 

Erickson hesitated and was won over. “ I’d like 
to,” he confessed. “I’m hungry — and I’m late 
for supper at home — and you have an awful nice 
picnic.” Even so, Marian knew that his look of 
pleasure was more for the companionship than the 
food. 

“ That’s fine ! ” she said heartily. “ I’m glad 
you’ll stay.” 

“ We all are,” added Agnes simply. 


1 98 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

“ Well, I’ll fix up your fire, then.” Eager to have 
something to do, Carl stooped to replenish the blaze. 
There was still a good supply of the creamed pota- 
toes in the basin, but it had been set aside, and had 
grown cold. “ Look,” said the youth, “ if you’d 
put the bricks together like this, the fire would draw 
better.” With a swift movement, he rearranged 
the bricks, so that there was a draught between them 
and up a tiny chimney. 

“ How easy that is, and what a difference it 
makes ! ” Lola exclaimed. 

The boy gave her a grateful glance. “ I’ve been 
out in the woods a good deal,” he said, glad of some 
conversation to offer. “ And now,” he went on, as 
he rose to his feet, “ I guess I’d better wash up a 
little.” 

“ Here’s a towel. Mother put two in.” Marian 
fumbled in the big basket and produced a folded bit 
of linen, which she tossed to Carl. 

Catching it, with a mumbled “ Thank you,” he 
clumped down the slope to the edge of the water, 
where he stood washing his hands and face, and 
drying them, while the girls cleared away their used 
dishes, flicked off the crumbs from the cloth, and 
straightened it for the newcomer. Agnes carefully ‘ 
tended the contents of the basin, on the stove. The 
problem of a plate was solved by turning one upside 
down, and covering it thickly with oiled paper from 
the sandwiches. As Carl came up, Marian ran down 
the hill, to wash a cup and a knife and fork. Soon 
the feast was ready, and the unexpected guest sat 
down upon the grass. 

“ It seems kind-of funny for me to sit here and 


Hopes and Plans 199 

eat alone,” he apologized, his clean tanned face red- 
dening with embarrassment. 

“ We’d keep you company, but we couldn’t eat 
another bit,” Agnes explained to him. 

Hunger routed his scruples, and the young man 
ate heartily of the food before him; and while he 
ate, the girls engaged him in conversation. Agnes 
was a master-hand at asking questions, but with more 
tact than she usually possessed, she led Carl on to 
talk of his work, and of the crops, and the prices of 
farm produce. Marian asked after his mother and 
sisters. As he talked, he became less “ grouchy,” 
as Agnes would have said, and responded more will- 
ingly to the warmth of thought which was behind the 
desultory speech. 

“ This is awful good of you girls,” Carl said at 
last, as he was disposing of cake and cheese. 
“ Why, I didn’t s’pose — I kind-of thought — ” 
He interrupted himself with a huge bite of cake. 

“ It’s awful, walking along hungry,” spoke up 
Agnes. “I’m glad you didn’t have to go any 
farther.” 

“ I kind-of thought — ” the young man repeated 
vaguely. 

“ That we thought we were pretty nice — nicer 
than other people,” laughed Lola, speaking in jest, 
and yet completing what he wanted to say. 

“ Er — well, I don’t know as I — ” Carl pro- 
tested, with a sidelong glance at the girl. 

“Never mind. You were wrong, whatever it 
was,” said Lola. 

The boy sat staring grimly into the red coals under 
the bricks. “ It’s- kind-of hard,” he muttered, 


200 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

“ seem* other folks doin’ nothin’ but have good 
times, when you have to work, and don’t have much 
of anything else.” 

The girls understood that he was explaining his 
past behavior, and in a way begging pardon. It was 
as near as he could come to an apology or an 
expression of regret. Marian, to her own amaze- 
ment, knew exactly how he felt, and what he was 
trying to say. 

“ I think we know what you mean,” said Lola 
quietly. 

“We get you, Steve,” added Agnes with 
solemnity. They all laughed at the flippant words 
and the earnest tone; and a sense of ease wa,s 
restored to the group. 

Just then, they caught the sound of singing on 
the lake, not far from shore. Snatches of the words 
came to them up the hill : 

“ Oh, the days of the Kerry dances, 

Oh, the ring of the piper’s tune! ” 

“ It’s Harvey,” said Lola and Agnes at once. 
Agnes gave a long musical trill which was a signal 
in the family. The music stopped, and the trill 
came back. 

In a few minutes, Harvey came striding up the 
hill. “ I thought I’d come over and see if you were 
all right,” he called. He looked surprised when he 
saw young Erickson, who had risen and was stand- 
ing awkwardly beside the cloth spread on the grass. 
“ Hello, Erickson,” cried Harvey. “ Glad to see 
you. Where did you arrive from?” 

There was a chorus of explanations. Carl was 


201 


Hopes and Plans 

less awkward with Harvey than with the girls. 
They all sat down again for a few minutes’ chat. A 
faint shadow of dusk began to fall over the land- 
scape. The throbbing song of a whip-poor-will 
sounded near at hand. The frogs down in the 
tamarack swamp set up an intermittent concert. 
“ Time to go — eh? ” suggested Harvey. 

“ Mother’ll be coming home about now,” said 
Marian. “ I suppose I ought to begin to think 
about getting home, too.” 

Carl Erickson got up, reaching for his hat. “ I 
must peg along,” he remarked in a casual tone. 

“ Oh, don’t get excited,” drawled Harvey. “ I’ll 
take you across the lake, and that’ll save you quite 
a walk. And by the way, my aunt wanted me to go 
and hunt you up to-morrow morning. Can you take 
our maid Barbara — - the colored girl, you know — 
to the train to-morrow or Monday? She’s made 
up her mind that she’s got to go.” 

“ Why, I guess I could do it to-morrow,” Carl 
returned. “ I don’t know anything to prevent.” 

“ Fine ! ” Harvey laid his hand on the other 
boy’s shoulder. “And say! To-morrow’s Satur- 
day, you know. Can’t you stop for supper on your 
way back, and go fishing with me? They say the 
bass bite in great shape, along about sundown.” . 

Erickson grew red with pleasure. “ Gee whizz! 
I’d like to,” he replied, with real eagerness in his 
dull gray-blue eyes. “ I’ve caught a lot of ’em about 
that time o’ day, and it cert’nly is nice on the lake 
then — so cool, and all. Maybe I can work it. 
Guess I could leave my team tied out for a while, if 
I brought along something for ’em to eat.” 


202 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

“ We’ll fix it up,” responded Harvey. The girls 
had begun to pick up the dishes and repack the 
basket. The boys brought water and sand, to put 
out the last coals of the fire. 

“ It’s been a grand picnic,” said Agnes, slipping 
her arm into Marian’s. 

“ The best I ever had,” supplemented young 
Erickson shyly. “ Somehow, you know, I feel a lot 
better about - — quite a number of things.” 


CHAPTER XII 

THE EMANCIPATION OF AGNES 

6t \7’OU must stay to supper,” said Mrs. Dove to 
Marian. “ The girls are going to get it — 
or some of us,” she added uncertainly. “ The girls 
enjoyed your picnic so much. Agnes, dear ” — she 
raised her voice — “ you’ll try to help with the 
supper, won’t you? ” 

“ Let me help,” said Marian with enthusiasm. 
“ I’ve done quite a good deal of cooking.” 

Agnes came to the sitting-room door. “ It 
would be wonderful if you would,” she said. “ In 
Domestic Science they taught us how to make white- 
sauce, and cocoa-nut icing, and pineapple salad, but 
I don’t see how I could make any of those for 
supper.” 

“ We’ll think of something,” Marian assured her. 
“ You know I brought some lettuce and berries.” 
She and Agnes went out into the kitchen and stood 
staring vaguely at the shelves and cupboards. 

Agnes frowned. “ Harvey likes something 
‘ hearty,’ as he says. We’ve got to think of some- 
thing besides lettuce.” 

Marian had opened a cupboard door. “ Oh, 
here’s some dried beef in a glass can,” she exclaimed. 
“ You can make some of your white-sauce, with dried 
beef in it, and we’ll have that with nice new pota- 
toes.” 


203 


204 Marian F rear’s Summer 

“ Oh, that will be great. I can make white-sauce, 
if I do say it,” glowed Agnes, taking down the can. 

“ If you’ll get the fire to going, I’ll scrape the 
potatoes, and have them ready,” Marian went -on; 
“ and while they’re boiling, you can make the 
creamed beef, and I’ll furbish up a salad. We 
could have some hard-boiled eggs and some of these 
little radishes with the lettuce — that will make it 
more substantial.” 

“ There’s bread left,” Agnes reported, looking 
into the tin box. u Barbara made quite a lot before 
she left; and there’s cake, to go with the berries — ” 

“ It will be a banquet,” predicted Marian, glad to 
be of service. 

The fire was soon snapping in the stove, and the 
small round potatoes were rapidly bereft of their 
skins. The two girls worked busily, with a good 
deal of talk, and perhaps more clatter than was 
necessary. 

Agnes heard Harvey going through the sitting- 
room, and called out to him, “ Harve, don’t you 
want to set the table? ” 

Harvey came to the kitchen door, and stood with 
his hands in his pockets, surveying the scene and the 
cooks. “ Me? Set the ta.ble? ” he asked with lofty 
air. “ Since when have I been your second-girl? ” 

“ I haven’t noticed that you’ve ever been,” 
returned Agnes, red of face. 

Harvey came lurching out into the kitchen with a 
mischievous intent showing in his eyes. When he 
got behind Agnes, he gave her braided hair a tweak, 
saying in a tone of concern, “ Aggie, your hair’s 
hanging down! ” 


The Emancipation of Agnes 205 

“ITarve! Leave me alone!” Agnes shrank 
away from him, and turned an angry face over her 
shoulder. 

Harvey chuckled. “ Never mind, Ag,” he said, 
and began to sing: 

“ There’s a little spark of love still bur-rning, 

Down deep in my heart for you-oo-oo ! ” 

“ Well, there isn’t any in mine,” Agnes sent back 
at him crossly. “ I think it’s mean of you not to set 
the table. Marian and I are as busy as we can be.” 

“ I suppose I’ll have to ” ; Harvey spoke with 
resignation. “Where’s the tablecloth?” 

“ You know where it is.” Agnes was measuring 
flour in a tablespoon. 

“ No, I don’t. Do you think I’m a clairvoyant? ” 
Harvey put on an injured air. 

“ You don’t have to be, to find the tablecloth,” 
Agnes returned. 

“ I see I shall have to go into a trance.” Harvey 
began to roll his eyes, and to breathe violently, 
clutching the air and swaying. “ Is this a table- 
cloth I see before me? ” he gasped. “ Ah ! now ’tis 
gone, and now I see it still ! M-my soul perceives it. 
Methinks I spy it in the cupboard drawer.” He 
jerked open the drawer. “ Ha ! there it is I That 
was a first-rate trance,” he remarked in a matter-of- 
fact way, to his sister. “ Try one, Ag, the next 
time you lose your hair-ribbon.” 

Agnes disdained to respond to this suggestion; 
instead, she said in a cold voice, “ Did you wash your 
hands, Harve? ” 

“What, wash my fair hands?” queried the boy 


206 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

in mock amazement. “ No, dear lady. Two years 
ago, I used Pear’s soap — since then I have used no 
other.” 

“ You look it.” Agnes gave a glance at Harvey’s 
hands, which were lean and brown, but strictly clean. 
Nevertheless, he went to wash them in the basin in 
the corner. 

Marian had been listening, much amused, while 
she made preparation to “ furbish up ” the salad. 
Now she turned to her companion-cook, saying, “ Do 
any of you like a little bit of onion in the salad, 
Agnes?” 

“ Yes, all of us, I guess,” answered Agnes, deep 
in the mysteries of white-sauce. 

Harvey had taken down some plates, and was 
about to carry them to the dining-room. He paused 
on the threshold. “ Dear me! ” he ejaculated in a 
high-pitched voice, “ does my delicate olfactory 
nerve detect the vulgar odor of onions? ” Nobody 
answering, he burst into song: 

“ There is a boarding house, 

Not far away, 

Where they have — ” 

Mrs. Dove spoke querulously from the front 
porch, where her hammock hung beside the dining- 
room window, “ I wish you wouldn’t sing that song, 
Harvey.” 

“ Why, that’s a fine song, Auntie,” replied the boy 
innocently. “What’s the matter with that? ’Tis 
the sordid reference to onions which disturbs your 
soul. Madam, I will begin over, and change the 
words.” He went on, with a lusty shout: 


The Emancipation of Agnes 207 

“ There is a boarding-house, 

Not far away, 

Where they have pink ice-cream 
Three times a day. 

Oh, how the boarders smile, 

When they hear that pink’s in style, 

Oh, how the tra-la-la, 

Three times a day! 

“ I couldn’t think of anything more to rhyme with 
smile and style,” he apologized, “ but I think it’s a 
nice song, anyhow.” He put the plates noisily upon 
the table, where he had spread the cloth. 

Agnes sighed disgustedly. “ When he gets to 
going on like that, there’s no use in trying to shut 
him off,” she muttered. 

“ I think it’s fun,” said Marian, suppressing a 
giggle. “ He isn’t doing any harm.” 

“ If you had him shouting around all day, you’d 
get tired of him,” asserted the younger sister. “ Do 
you think that this is thick enough — or ought I to 
put in a little bit more flour? ” 

“ There’s no one to shout around our house,” 
commented Marian, disregarding the problem pre- 
sented to her. 

Agnes stared, stirring her sauce. “ It must be 
awful not to have a brother,” she meditated, with an 
awed look. 

“ Well, I get on without one.” Marian did not 
like being pitied. “ I believe I would make that a 
trifle thicker,” she advised. “ And do you think 
I’d better put a spoonful of cream in the mayon- 
naise? Do your people like it so? ” 

“ M-huh”; Agnes was getting out more flour. 


208 


Marian F rear’s Summer 


Harvey came back to the kitchen, and his teasing and 
hilarity began again. 

With this accompaniment, and what Harvey 
called “ coop-eration,” the meal was prepared and 
set forth in the dining-room. Lola and Mrs. Dove 
praised the cooks, ceasing to lament the departure 
of Barbara. 

“ Ha, ha ! Lola and Harve have got to wash the 
dishes,” exulted Agnes, eating her creamed-beef and 
potatoes with relish. “ Marian and I did the cook- 
ing.” 

“ I set the table,” Harvey complained. “ I don’t 
know why I should have to do anything else.” 

“Set the table! Threw a few things on, you 
mean,” Agnes remarked witheringly. “ I had to do 
it all over again.” 

“ Well, I never took Domestic Science,” Harvey 
hedged; “so I’m not supposed to know anything 
about housekeeping.” 

“ Lola and I will wash the dishes,” Mrs. Dove 
announced, “ if Harvey will get the breakfast 
to-morrow morning. That seems fair. He likes 
getting up in the morning better than the rest of 
us do.” 

“ That’s all right,” Harvey agreed. “ Break- 
fast is easy. The oatmeal will cook all night in the 
fireless, and then there’s only coffee to make, and 
eggs to boil. You don’t need toast; it’s too much 
of a luxury.” 

“ I don’t mind, if we only have bread,” said Lola. 
“ But how are we going to get that? We can’t have 
it sent in with the groceries. It would be stale and 
horrid.” 


The Emancipation of Agnes 209 

Mrs. Dove looked hesitatingly at Marian. “ Do 
you suppose your mother could be induced to make 
some for us, when she bakes bread for herself?” 
she inquired. “ It would save our lives.” 

“ I don’t know.” Marian felt that her mother 
had enough to do; but it was not much more work 
to make four loaves than two. “ I’ll ask her.” 

“ I’d just as lief get the lunch to-morrow, if 
Harvey gets the breakfast,” said Lola. And so 
they went on planning the meals for at least a day 
ahead. Mrs. Dove tried not to look worried, 
though she still deplored the unreasonableness of 
colored maids. 

After supper, when Marian was about to go, Mrs. 
Dove, her sleeves rolled up for the dishwashing, 
called Marian to her, and took her hand. “ To- 
morrow,” she whispered, “ I’m coming over to talk 
with you about your studies. And you’ll let me see 
something that you’ve written, if you have anything, 
won’t you? ” 

“ Of course, if you want to bother,” the girl 
returned. “ But it seems like asking a good deal of 
you.” 

“ I’d like to do it. You see, I’ve looked after our 
children coming on in the high school — first 
Harvey, and now Lola and Agnes — and I think I 
have an idea of what’s required. I might make 
some kind of an estimate of where you are, and talk 
things over with you a bit.” 

“ You’re awfully good,” Marian replied with 
gratitude. “ I wish there were something that I — ” 

“ There is something,” Mrs. Dove said, still 
speaking in a low voice; “ if you could persuade your 


210 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

mother to let me see some more of those delightful 
old things of hers, that would be doing me a favor. 
And perhaps there might be something she would 
let me buy — you wouldn’t mind, would you? ” 

“ No. I’m willing that she should do just exactly 
as she likes about the things,” Marian replied. 
“ They’re hers, and I haven’t any claim on them. 
If you really want them, you might at least see what 
she says.” 

“ I’ll get up courage enough, I think,” Mrs. 
Dove smiled. “ But I don’t want to be greedy or 
over-persuasive.” 

“ You won’t be.” Marian went on home, con- 
sidering various matters, being a member, as she had 
said lately, of “ the ways and means committee.” 

She had a private conference with Mrs. Dove the 
next day, while Mrs. Frear was busy up stairs. 
“ Now, there’s nothing to be frightened of,” said 
the lady, noting the girl’s nervous demeanor. “ I’m 
not an ogre, and I don’t know that my opinion counts 
for anything. Have you anything around that you 
have written? ” 

Marian flushed. “ Yes, I have a few things that 
I wrote last winter, and in the spring, on rainy days, 
and in the evenings when we were here alone.” 

“ What sort of things? ” 

“ Oh, about birds and animals, and things that I 
saw. The birds were coming back, and I watched 
them. And a pair of blue jays built a nest in the 
grape vine outside the kitchen window.” Marian’s 
eyes lighted at the remembrance. “ It was so 
interesting! I used to train them, and feed them. 
They got so that they would eat out of my hand, and 


21 I 


The Emancipation of Agnes 

let me take up the little birds. And then I had a 
tame gopher — ” 

“ Let me see the things.” Mrs. Dove was sober 
and noncommittal. 

Marian brought out a number of sheets of paper 
and an old composition book, into which she had 
copied some of her work. Mrs. Dove sat down in 
the rocking chair, and began glancing them over. 
She read rather sternly, with the air of a teacher, her 
brows knitted and her mouth tightly closed. 
Marian, watching her, felt self-conscious and ner- 
vous, and wondered whether the writings were 
dreadfully bad. She was relieved when Mrs. Dove 
laid down the first paper, with “ Not bad. Not 
bad, at all.” She read on through the others, and 
laid them aside. “ These are rather good, in fact,” 
she said, with her eyes on the girl’s flushed face. 
“ You have something to say in each one of them. 
I’ve always said that the main thing in writing any- 
thing is to be sure that you have something to say, 
and then the rest will take care of itself.” 

“ Well, I was interested in the birds and the 
gopher,” Marian explained; “ and when I was writ- 
ing I thought how I could make it all clear to some 
one who didn’t know anything about it.” 

“ I believe you had the right idea,” Mrs. Dove 
replied. “ There are one or two places where 
you’ve made little mistakes. See, you’ve left out 
the quotation marks, here, where you’re telling what 
you thought the bird said.” Her finger pointed out 
the place. “ And here you’ve forgotten to- capital- 
ize. That’s bad. One has to be perfectly exact 
about those things.” 


212 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

“ It was awfully careless of me,” Marian con- 
fessed. “ I knew better, of course. But that’s no 
excuse, is it?” 

“ No, I don’t think it is.” Mrs. Dove smiled 
frankly. “ You couldn’t explain that after you’d 
taken an examination, and been marked down for 
the mistakes. But anyhow, I don’t think that 
there’s any doubt that you could very quickly pass 
out of the freshman English into the second-year 
work. That would save you a good deal of time. 
It’s too bad you haven’t had a language. That 
would be a great advantage.” 

“ Mother’s taught me a little French,” Marian 
ventured. “ She had lots of it when she was a girl; 
and in the winters, when we’ve been here alone all 
day, you know, she’s started me, with some old books 
she had.” 

“ Oh, that’s magnificent ! ” cried the lady extrava- 
gantly. “ You should have said so. Can you 
read it? ” 

“ Yes, quite easily.” Marian shifted in her chair. 
“ I can understand it as I read. My pronunciation 
may not be perfect, and I don’t suppose I could talk 
very much with any one, but — ” 

“ This is a surprise,” Mrs. Dove repeated. “ Get 
one of your books, and we’ll see what you can 
do.” 

Marian brought a book of stories, and translated, 
Mrs. Dove looking over her shoulder. “ You’re all 
right,” the older woman said with as much interest 
and relief as if she herself were involved. u You 
can surely get credit for this.” 

“ I don’t know that they have a French course at 


The Emancipation of Agnes 213 

Willford,” Marian answered; “ in fact, I think they 
don’t.” 

“ Oh, dear! you ought to get credit after all your 
work,” frowned the guest. “ Perhaps you won’t go 
to Willford; perhaps you’ll go to a better high 
school.” 

Marian looked blank. “ I don’t see how I 
could,” she made reply. “ It’s problem enough to 
get to Willford.” 

“ Well, you have more than a year of a modern 
language, anyhow.” The golden head under the 
wide black hat nodded with approval. 

“ It would be splendid if I could get through in 
less than four years,” Marian ruminated. “ I’ll be 
so old, anyway — and I’m in such a hurry to get 
so that I -can help mother — ” 

“ Well, we have to take things a day at a time,” 
Mrs. Dove remarked in all soberness; “ though I’m 
the last to practice what I preach,” she added, smiling 
humorously at her didacticism. “ I’m so impulsive 
— my mind is always flying ahead of my body.” 
She looked very pretty as she sat there in a thin rose- 
colored gown, with white organdie trimmings. A 
moon-st-one bracelet of odd silver filagree tinkled on 
her arm as she raised her hand to her hair. Marian 
had come to love her greatly, though she did not 
’exactly understand how one could be such a combina- 
tion of the young girl and the woman of the world. 
“ I don’t think you need to worry a bit about enter- 
ing the high school, nor about getting through in less 
than four years,” Mrs. Dove was saying. “ Lola 
says you’ve had algebra, and there’ll be some way 
in which that can be made to count.” 


214 Marian Frear’s Summer 

“ You certainly do encourage me,” responded the 
girl, taking the lady’s hand. “ There’s mother, 
coming down stairs.” 

Mrs. Frear entered, saying, “ I thought I’d give 
you two a chance to talk things over. Did you 
come to any conclusions? ” 

“ Yes, everything is settled for twenty-five years,” 
Mrs. Dove glanced understanding^ at Marian. 
“ And now it’s your turn. I want to have a confer- 
ence with you.” 

“With me?” Mrs. Frear looked puzzled. 
“What about?” 

“ About old treasures. Dear Mrs. Frear,” Mrs. 
Dove began in a quaint pleading way, “ I’m never 
really easy when I know that there’s some fascinat- 
ing old relic about, that I haven’t had a peep at.” 
She smiled at her hostess so ingenuously that the 
other lady smiled in return. 

“ I’d love to let you see them,” she replied, “ but 
I don’t know that you’ll consider them so very 
choice, after all the beautiful things you’ve seen.” 

“ I’ll risk that,” was the eager answer. 

“ Merry, dear, don’t you want to get those old 
pieces of china from the top shelf in my closet? ” 
Mrs. Frear turned to the girl at her elbow. 

“ I’d like to, mother, but I don’t want to be 
responsible for them. Will you stand and take them 
as I hand them down to you? ” 

“ Why, of course. But you wouldn’t break 
them.” 

The two went up stairs to Mrs. Frear’s bed-room. 
Marian stood on a chair, and her mother hovered 
beside her. One by one, the plates and cups and 


The Emancipation of Agnes 215 

pitchers were handed down from the shelf. “ Oh, 
mother ! ” Marian exclaimed, “ I never realized how 
pretty they were. I really haven’t seen them for 
years.” 

“ They are lovely.” The older woman ranged 
them on the top of an old mahogany chest of 
drawers, where they glowed with a richness of gold 
and blue, and of the exquisite sprays of flowers 
brightly scattered over them. Mrs. Frear and 
Marian carried a few pieces down the steep stairs. 

Mrs. Dove, an impatient figure, was sitting beside 
the window. She sprang up at sight of the china. 
“ Oh, the beautiful things! ” she burst out, with un- 
concealed delight. She took a cup into her hand 
with the same loving touch which Marian had noted 
in the episode of the luster pitcher. “ They are 
gems! ” she murmured, under her breath. She 
turned the cup over and examined the mark on the 
bottom. “ Gems ! ” she reiterated. Then she took 
a plate, while the two other women put the rest of 
the dishes on the table. She was muttering some- 
thing about marks and dates which Marian could not 
distinguish. Absorbed in her contemplation of the 
treasures, she made no remark while the remainder 
of the pieces were being brought down stairs and 
displayed. She stood back with her hands clasped, 
staring at the array. “ And to think these have 
been hidden away for years,” she breathed. “ It 
seems almost cruel not to have had any one looking 
at them. But perhaps they were being saved for 
me ! ” She glanced inquiringly at her hostess. 

Mrs. Frear took up a cup and turned it medita- 
tively in her hands. “ They are really very choice, 


2i 6 Marian F rear’s Summer 

I know,” she said with her unassuming candor. “ I 
was afraid I should be tempted to use them too com- 
monly, if I once began. And Marian was such a 
little smasher when she was a youngster. I thought 
the best thing was to put the china away until the 
right time came to bring it out.” 

“ The right time has come ! ” Mrs. Dove made 
a dramatic gesture. Mrs. Frear regarded her 
questioningly. “ I must have them — all these.” 
The younger woman’s voice was almost beseech- 
ing. “ Would you — could you part with them? ” 

Mrs. Frear hesitated and looked at Marian. 
“ Yes, I think I could,” she said in her soft but de- 
cisive way. “ They might as well do some good as 
to stand on the closet shelf.” Whatever pangs of 
renunciation she felt, she skillfully concealed. 
Marian dimly felt that it was hard for her mother 
to give up these heirlooms, but that the eagerness for 
a daughter’s welfare stifled all other considerations. 

“ That’s the right way to regard it.” Mrs. Dove 
did not hide her satisfaction. “ I’m so glad you can 
look at it from a practical standpoint.” A practical 
standpoint was something with which Mrs. Dove 
herself was not too familiar. “ I’m perfectly de- 
lighted ! ” 

Mrs. Frear’s brown eyes were a trifle sad as she 
surveyed the table spread with the richly colored 
porcelain. “ Oh, yes, I’m thoroughly practical ! ” 
she returned, with a faint tinge of irony in her voice. 

Mrs. Dove was so occupied with examining the 
individual pieces that she did not notice. u Now 
about the price — ” she began with a slight hesita- 
tion. “ It is a bit hard for gentlewomen to discuss 


The Emancipation of Agnes 217 

those things between themselves, but you’re such a 
sensible woman that one can be perfectly out-and- 
out.” 

Then followed consultation and argument, inter- 
mingled with “Are you sure?” and “You sha’n’t 
take a cent less ! ” At last the bargain was made, at 
a figure which seemed to Marian no less than a 
fortune. 

“ It seems like a good deal,” faltered Mrs. Frear. 

“ None too much. Things like this don’t grow 
on every bush — not even on Christmas trees ! ” the 
purchaser assured her. “ Don’t consider me gener- 
ous. I’m merely fair.” 

It was a relief when Harvey came to the back 
door and called, “ Are you ready, Aunt Elsie? ” 

“Yes, boy! One moment — ” Mrs. Dove 
looked about for her parasol and handbag. 

“Do you want to take these things now?” 
queried Mrs. Frear. 

“ Not now; not till they’re paid for. I’ll send to 
Willford for a barrel, and plenty of excelsior. I 
know how to pack china, though I don’t like to risk 
any as precious as this. Anyhow, there’s no pro- 
fessional packer here, and I’ll have to do the best I 
can.” Mrs. Dove looked out of the window. A 
strong wind had risen, and the sky was getting gray. 
“ I must hurry. And thank you — thank you very, 
very much, Mrs. Frear ! ” 

“ The thanks are all on our part.” Mrs. Frear 
and Marian went to the door, outside which Harvey 
was playing with Rosy-Nosey. 

“ There’s going to be a storm, but we can get 
home if we hurry,” Harvey announced, refusing to 


2l8 


Marian F rear’s Summer 


stay, but accepting a handful of caraway cookies. 
He and his jubilant relative hurried away, with 
scanty time for good-byes. 

Marian turned and put her arms around her 
mother, hugging her closely and a little consolingly. 

“ Poor Mummy! I don’t believe you want to let 
them go,” she whispered. “ Is it awfully hard? ” 

“ Well, it isn’t easy,” confessed the mother. 
“ But oh, Marian, this will make so much difference 
to us ! ” 

“ I know. But the china was your mother’s, and 
then her mother’s before that — ” 

“ My mother and her mother would have liked it 
to give pleasure to some one, and help you to get a 
start in life. Every step you take will help you to 
take the next.” 

“ Even if I have to step on the dishes.” Marian’s 
laugh was tremulous. “ I felt like running and hid- 
ing every piece, and saying that we wouldn’t sell it 
for love or money. But I knew that you would do 
what you thought best. I do hope I can make things 
up to you sometime, mother. And I want you to 
profit by this sacrifice — I want you to get out among 
people, and lead, in a little bit of a way, at least, the 
kind of life that you ought to be leading.” 

“ We’ll have to be careful of this money. It’s 
really only a little, when we compare it with what we 
need. But it will give us courage to go to Willford, 
and you can get started there — and then we’ll see 
how things turn out, after that.” 

Mrs. Frear was so pleased and hopeful that 
Marian could not help sharing her enthusiasm. The 


The Emancipation of Agnes 219 

next time she was at the Spaldings’, she confided to 
Lola hew much “ Aunt Elsie’s ” passion for old 
china had meant in solving the problem of going to 
school. 

“ I’m just as glad as I can be! ” Lola exclaimed; 
but Marian thought she had a queer look, as if she 
knew something she was not telling, or as if she did 
not approve her aunt’s buying the dishes. 

Marian felt her ardor dampened for a moment, 
but she said to herself, “ I suppose it seems like a 
small thing to Lola that one can go to a country high 
school, and live in a poor sort of way. Only, she 
seemed so interested before — ” Marian said no 
more, and the two girls sat for a little while without 
saying much. They were snuggled on the big cot- 
cofa in the living-room at Pigeon’s Nest. Agnes 
was reading on the porch, and Mrs. Dove was in 
the hammock. Mrs. Dove’s voice sounded through 
the open door. “ Agnes, dear, don’t you want to 
go up and get that book that I left on the table in 
Lola’s room when I was up there this morning? ” 

After a pause, Agnes gave a sigh. “ Yes, 
Auntie,” she said in a far-away tone, as if she had 
hardly heard. “ In Lola’s room, did you say? ” 

“ Yes, I’m sure it must be there.” 

Agnes rose and came into the house, still holding 
her book in front of her. Intent on her reading, 
she passed the two girls on the sofa, and stumbled 
up the stairs, coming back with another book in her 
left hand. She went out to the porch to complete 
her mission. 

Then came Mrs. Dove’s voice again. 


“ Oh, I’m 


220 Marian F rear’s Summer 

so sorry, dear. This isn’t the book I meant. It’s 
one with a green cover. Perhaps I left it on the 
dresser.” 

Agnes sighed again. “ Well, I’ll see, Aunt 
Elsie,” she said briefly, and repeated the journey up 
the stairs and back. 

Marian’s face flushed with indignation. For a 
long time she had wanted to speak, and now she 
began abruptly. “ There’s something that worries 
me, lots of times when I’m over here,” she said, look- 
ing sidewise at Lola. 

Her companion gave her a startled glance. 
“ Why, what is it? ” she asked wonderingly. 

“ I don’t know that I ought to say it.” Marian’s 
courage almost left her. “ You’ve all been so nice 
to me, for no reason in the world except that you’re 
all so kindhearted — it seems horried of me to find 
fault.” She was speaking in a low tone, so that 
those on the veranda should not hear. 

“ You arouse my curiosity,” answered Lola, much 
troubled. “ What is it that worries you, as you 
say? ” 

“ It’s Agnes — ” Marian began. 

“ Agnes! ” Lola looked perplexed. 

“ The way you treat her.” Marian set herself 
to her task. 

“ I, you mean? Or everybody?” 

“ All of you — not you in particular.” 

“ Why — ” Lola opened her eyes in astonish- 
ment, “ don’t we treat Agnes well? ” 

“ Yes, in most ways.” Marian colored wretch- 
edly, but she was determined to go on. 


221 


The Emancipation of Agnes 

u In what ways don’t we? ” Lola wrinkled her 
forehead and blinked. 

“ Everybody is always asking her to do something 
for them,” the other girl blurted out, still with a 
lowered voice. “ They always seem to think that if 
they say, ‘ That’s a dear,’ or, ‘ That’s a good girl,’ 
they’re somehow making it up to her. It wouldn’t 
be so bad if it were only one person, but when it’s 
all three, and all the time — I think it’s too much,” 
she finished, choking. 

Lola stared at her in blank amazement. “ Why, 
I don’t remember — ” she said, and then checked 
herself, as if she had begun to remember. 

“ I know it’s awfully bold of me to say anything 
like this.” Marian was contrite but firm. “ After 
I got started, I couldn’t stop.” 

Lola was frowning, her hands clasped in her lap. 
“ Agnes takes it in good part,” she said slowly. 

“ Does she? Isn’t she always complaining? ” 

“ M-maybe. But I thought that was — er — 
just a matter for form Lola smiled in a stricken 
sort of way, — “ just to 4 save her face,’ as they say. 
It never occurred to me that we were putting too 
much on her.” 

“ I don’t suppose it hurts her just to do the things 
themselves,” Marian admitted, “ though I should 
think she’d get tired with trotting around; but it isn’t 
very nice to be always waiting on some one.” 

“ I don’t believe she waits on us very much.” 
Lola was still unconvinced. “ What has she done 
to-day? ” 

“ I don’t know what she did before I came,” 


222 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

Marian returned, “ but since IVe been here she 
has” — She counted on her fingers — “One: 
Taken Harvey’s spoon-hooks down to the dock. 
Two : Put up two sandwiches and taken them down 
to him. Three : Brought your aunt two books 
and a handkerchief — that’s two trips up stairs and 
one to Mrs. Dove’s bedroom: Four: Lent you 
some of her writing-paper; another trip up stairs. 
Five: Picked the sand-burrs off your skirt; she had 
to go up stairs to get the skirt, and make a trip to 
the kitchen to burn up the burrs. Six: Emptied 
the drip-pan under the ice-box, because everybody 
forgot it when the kitchen-work was done this morn- 
ing. Seven: — ” 

“ Oh, my goodness ! ” Lola gasped. “ Don’t 
tell me any more. Has she done all that? ” 

“You remember them, don’t you?” Marian 
asked, without pity. 

“ Well, yes, I do. But it doesn’t seem possible.” 

“ Seven — ” repeated Marian, ready to go on. 

“ Don’t.” Lola put out her hand. “ Oh, dear! 
Are we like that? ” 

“ You don’t realize how it has been.” Marian 
was pinching the folds of her dress nervously. “ I 
noticed it almost the first thing.” 

“ No, we haven’t realized,” Lola confessed. 
“ She’s the youngest, and little by little we’ve let our- 
selves impose on her. It seems sort of natural to ask 
her to do things, you know. When mother was ill, 
Agnes ran errands for us, and I guess we just kept 
it up.” 

“ It isn’t right.” 

“ No, it isn’t.” Lola looked her distress. 


The Emancipation of Agnes 223 

Just then they heard Mrs. Dove speaking on the 
porch, — “ Agnes.” 

“ M-huh? ” came from the younger girl, who was 
still deep in her reading. 

“ Dearie, won’t you bring me a knife or some- 
thing? These leaves aren’t cut,” said Mrs. Dove in 
a dulcet tone. 

“ M-m-m,” Agnes replied. “ Can’t you use a 
hair-pin? ” 

“ I haven’t any wire ones; the other kind tear the 
page,” said Mrs. Dove with patience. 

“ All right.” With a loud sigh, Agnes got up, 
stumbling against the legs of her chair. 

Lola rose from the sofa as Agnes appeared in the 
doorway. “ I’ll get it, Aggie,” she said quietly. 
“ Auntie wants a knife, doesn’t she? ” 

Agnes looked up into Lola’s face, in astonishment. 
“ I was going to get it for her,” she defended her- 
self. “ I didn’t hurry, because I thought at first that 
she could use a hair-pin.” 

“ I’ll get it,” Lola replied. “ You go back to 
your book.” 

Agnes stood transfixed. “ I thought I was the 
errand-boy for this family,” she said, staring. “ I 
shouldn’t feel natural if I could sit still and read for 
five minutes without being asked to do something.” 
She spoke without sarcasm, simply stating a fact. 

“ I’ll go.” Lola went into the dining-room and 
brought a silver knife from the drawer. “ We 
forgot to bring a paper-knife,” she explained to 
Marian. 

Agnes did not go back to her book. She stood 
watching her sister in a puzzled way, and then fol- 


224 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

lowed her to the porch. Marian rose and stood in 
the doorway. 

Lola held out the handle of the knife to her aunt. 
“ Auntie,” she said in a clear determined voice, “ do 
you know what we’re doing to Agnes? ” 

Mrs. Dove lowered her book absently. “ To 
Agnes? ” she repeated in mild bewilderment. 

“ Yes, Auntie. Do you realize that we’re making 
a slave out of Little Sister? ” 

“ Nonsense, Lola.” Mrs. Dove took the knife 
and began to cut the pages of the book. u Good 
gracious, what do you mean? ” 

“ Why, we keep asking her to do things for us all 
the time,” Lola answered with as much indignation 
as if she had discovered Little Sister’s servitude, her- 
self. Agnes started and gasped, but said nothing. 

“Supposing we do?” Mrs. Dove’s white fore- 
head showed a line of irritation. “All the time? 
Now, that’s an exaggeration, Lola. I hardly ever 
ask her to do anything for me.” 

“ How* many times have you asked her to do 
things for you since you got into the hammock?” 
asked Lola, without impertinence, but with relentless 
coolness. 

“ Really, Lola — ” Mrs. Dove raised her eyes 
protestingly. 

“ Well, how many? ” 

“ Once, I suppose.” Several more lines had 
appeared in the lady’s forehead. “ I asked her to 
get me a book — ” 

“ Two books. The first one wasn’t what you 
wanted.” 

“ Er — yes. Two books.” 


The Emancipation of Agnes 225 

“ She had to go up stairs for both of them. And 
before that, a handkerchief.” 

“ M-maybe.” 

“ And a paper-cutter.” 

“ My stars ! have I asked her as many times as 
that? ” Mrs. Dove looked over at the younger girl 
with a contrite glance. “ Did I bother you that 
many times, dear? ” 

“ Yes, Auntie, but < — ” Agnes began, eager to clear 
herself of the charge of complaining. 

“Do you think we’re imposing upon Agnes?” 
The older woman turned in a guilty way to Lola and 
Marian. 

“ I’m sure of it, Aunt Elsie,” Lola made answer. 
“ Marian called my attention to it.” 

“Then you’ve noticed it?” Mrs. Dove ques- 
tioned the guest. 

“ Yes, yes — - all the time; ever since I began com- 
ing here.” Marian was excited and ashamed, and 
glad, too, that she had had the courage to speak. 

Mrs. Dove held out her hands to Agnes. “ You 
poor dear,” she said in a self-reproachful tone, 
“ come to me.” Agnes, her breast heaving, walked 
over to the hammock. Mrs. Dove put her arms 
around the young girl, and held her close, patting her 
shoulder with a white, ringed hand. “ We didn’t 
mean it,” she murmured. “ We hadn’t an idea we 
were treating you so badly. You’re Auntie’s honey, 
and she wouldn’t be unkind to you for anything in 
the world.” 

“ It — it’s all right,” came from Agnes in a 
muffled voice. But she clung to her aunt as if in 
weariness and relief. 


226 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

Mrs. Dove looked at the others over Little Sister’s 
shoulder. “ Now that I survey the past,” she said 
with a painful smile, “ I am forced to admit that we 
have been thoughtless, and that I’ve been as bad as 
any one.” 

“ That poor kid,” muttered Lola, “ running 
around after a lot of lummoxes who were perfectly 
able to wait on themselves! ” Marian was startled 
at Lola’s temerity in calling Mrs. Dove, by implica- 
tion, a “ lummox,” but nobody seemed to take 
offense. 

“ We’ll turn over a new leaf.” Mrs. Dove spoke 
decidedly, giving Agnes a kiss on the cheek. 
“ There, dear ! We’re not going to make a bell-boy 
of you any more.” 

“ Oh, Auntie, I hope you’ll let me do things for 
you sometimes.” Agnes stepped back, wiping her 
eyes. 

“ No danger! ” Mrs. Dove spoke in humorous 
accusation of herself. “ It will probably be hard 
enough for me to get out of the habit.” 

“ Me, too,” Lola agreed. “ But I’m not going to 
be a selfish tyrant any more; and Harvey’s got to 
look out what he does, or we’ll all get after him. 
If he wants spoon-hooks and sandwiches, he can come 
up and get them.” 

“ But he was washing out the boat.” Agnes 
excused her beloved brother. 

“ It doesn’t make any difference what he was 
doing,” Lola scolded. “ He can wait on himself.” 

“ We all like to do a little something for each 
other once in a while.” It was hard for Agnes to 
give up the habit of subservience. 


The Emancipation of Agnes 227 

“ We’ll have plenty of chances.” Lola was indig- 
nant and practical. 

Agnes came over and took hold of Marian’s arm 
affectionately. Just then a trill startled them all, 
and they saw Harvey coming up the hill from the 
lake. They had been so earnestly occupied that they 
had not heard his boat at the dock. “ Hello, 
folks ! ” he called. 

“ Hello, Harvey,” Lola returned without great 
enthusiasm. 

The boy was waving a letter. “ From father ! ” 
he cried. “ I walked over to the mail-box. And 
what do you think? ” 

“ Oh, what?” 

“ He’s coming — to-morrow or next day. He 
says we’re not to expect him till he comes — but that 
he’s sure to be here — and may be he can stay a 
week ! ” 

“Hooray!” Agnes whooped and squeezed 
Marian’s arm nearly black-and-blue. There was a 
chorus of astonishment and delight. 

Again Marian thought, as she had so often 
thought this summer, “ What a wonderful thing to 
have a father! ” But this thought was supple- 
mented by another: “It’s a wonderful thing to 
have a mother, too, and I have one ! ” 

Harvey came rushing up to the porch with the 
precious letter, and for the moment the emancipation 
.of Agnes was forgotten. But Marian, when she 
remembered it afterward, was electrified at her own 
boldness; and she was happy, also, in its expression 
and its result. 


CHAPTER XIII 

A SURPRISE PARTY 


“TIT OTHER, do you realize that we’re always 

-***-■• busy,” said Marian — “so busy that we 
never sit down together in the afternoon, and just 
rest and talk? ” 

Mrs. Frear considered for a moment, while she 
gave a last polish to the kitchen table. “ Perhaps 
that’s true, dear,” she said, smiling, “ but we’re busy 
people; and besides, we do often have our evenings 
together.” 

“ Yes, I know.” Marian hung up the dish-towel. 
“ But I’m speaking of the afternoon. It’s so warm, 
— let’s take it easy, and have a little party of our 
own; be ladies of leisure, you know.” 

“ I’m ready for a party, any day.” Mrs. Frear 
spread the denim cover on the table. “ What is your 
idea, Baby?” This last word was one which she 
sometimes used as a mark of extreme affection. 

“ Nothing very exciting, mother; just a nice rest- 
ful time. Won’t you put on your blue dimity dress? 
It’s all fresh; I ironed it yesterday, you know. And 
I’ll put a rug and a table and some chairs out under 
the maples, and we’ll read those new magazines, and 
then after a while we’ll have some refreshments.” 

Mrs. Frear patted the glowing cheek of the girl. 

“ Why, of course. I’d love all that,” she con- 
228 


A Surprise Party 229 

fessed. “ I’ve had quite enough work for one day, 
myself.” 

Marian jumped happily, clasping her hands. 
“I’ll hurry and get ready,” she said. “Take all 
the time you want, mother, for I’ll see to things.” 

Mrs. Frear obediently went up stairs to put on the 
gown which she had been instructed to wear. 
Marian ran up a few minutes later, and changed into 
a thin white blouse and the gray linen skirt which 
Mrs. Dove had given her; and her white canvas 
pumps. She paused a moment in front of the glass, 
to give a last dab to her hair, softly coiled without 
the net which she had learned to wear while at her 
work. 

“How much happier I look! ” she said impuls- 
ively, half-aloud. The fresh color in her cheeks, and 
the redness of her lips emphasized the look of anima- 
tion which she wore She stood a moment, consider- 
ing her reflection in the glass; and then she took out 
of a drawer a string of old coral beads, berry-red and 
clasped with dull gold. She fastened it around her 
neck, above the low collar of the blouse. Hesitat- 
ingly she slipped on a gold and coral bracelet to 
match, holding out her slender brown wrist to study 
the effect. “ It’s a lovely color, and not too fussy,” 
she said, as she turned away to go down stairs. 

Marian took a rug made of two lengths of clean 
rag-carpet, in stripes of soft colors, and spread it on 
the grass under the maple trees in the side yard. 
Then she brought out a light old Chinese table — 
the only one left of a “ nest ” which had graced her 
grandmother’s hall, years ago. A linen cover pro- 
tected the lacquer, and hid sundry stains of age. 


230 Marian F rear’s Summer 

Two low chairs beside the stand completed the 
setting for the “ party.” 

“ It’s just like the pictures of the tea-parties in 
the magazines,” Marian exulted. 

She went to get the magazines which the Spaldings 
had lately lent her, and met her mother coming 
across the grass. “ Oh, stand right there! I want 
to look at you,” the girl exclaimed. 

Mrs. Frear, rather puzzled, stood still beside a 
bank of pink and white verbenas. She wore the 
freshly laundered blue dimity gown, which was faded 
to a soft warm tone Her neck was uncovered, and 
circled by an old embroidered collar of the finest 
French handiwork. A heavy gold chain with long 
fringed pendants of onyx and seed pearls hung down 
along her bosom. Her dark glossy hair was done 
in two braids bound round her head in a girlish way, 
extremely becoming to the fresh-faced woman. 

“Mother! how pretty you are!” Marian 
clasped her hands. “ I knew you were mctf-looking, 
but I didn’t realize how lovely you were.” 

“ Nonsense! ” Mrs. Frear blushed and made a 
gesture of incredulity. 

“ Those old things that you usually wear — the 
sacque and the sunbonnet — aren’t — well — suited 
to your style of beauty,” Marian, answered teas- 
ingly. “ But these things are.” 

“Goosey!” Mrs. Frear laughed as she pro- 
ceeded across the lawn; but she did not look dis- 
pleased. 

“ I wish I had a blue silk dress for you,” Marian 
continued, raising her voice — “ all soft chiffon-y 
stuff, with draperies and lace — ” 


A Surprise Party 231 

“ I should be spoiled,” called Mrs. Frear over her 
shoulder. 

Marian went on into the house after the maga- 
zines. “ Mother isn’t much older than Mrs. Dove,” 
she meditated. She had not thought much about 
that aspect of things before; it had always seemed as 
if one’s mother must be rather old. 

She came back, and she and her mother both sat 
down to read. Mrs. Frear had a bit of mending, 
too, in a faded orange-silk bag. “ It’s a nice party,” 
sighed the girl, fingering the leaves of the new maga- 
zine. 

“ Isn’t it? ” The mother was already deep in a 
story. 

Rosy-Nosey came daintily stepping through the 
long grass, and cuddled up on the rug at Marian’s 
feet. An hour passed. A good breeze blew 
through the branches of the maple. It fluttered the 
grass, and lightly touched the hair of the two silent 
women. There was hardly a sound except the 
occasional reechoing crow of a cock, or the quacking 
of the ducks on their way to the lake. 

“Don’t you think it’s time for refreshments?” 
Marian put down her book, looking inquiringly 
across the table at her mother. 

“Yes, indeed, I’m ready.” 

“ I’ll go and get them.” Marian went into the 
house, and prepared a big pitcher of iced raspberry 
shrub (there was an ice-house on the place, which 
Mr. Grant and his man filled for them every winter, 
from the lake) ; and a plate of oatmeal cookies. 
These viands she carried on a tray to the scene of 
the “ party.” “ Isn’t it a lovely color? ” She stood 


232 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

back to enjoy the deep red of the shrub, showing 
through the clear glass. 

She had just begun to pour out a glassful, when 
she was arrested by a call from the meadow. 
“ Whoo-hoo ! ” It was Lola’s voice. 

Marian stood on tiptoe to look across the garden. 
“ Mother! It’s Lola and Mr. Spalding,” she said. 
“ How glad I am that we dressed up! ” She gave 
a satisfied glance at the lady in the chair. 

“ Run and tell them that we’re out here,” Mrs. 
Frear said placidly, “ and bring two more glasses.” 

In a few minutes, they all came through the 
garden gate, and across the grass, Marian carrying 
the two glasses, and Lola a plate with more cookies 
on it. They were all laughing and talking. Mr. 
Spalding looked cool and handsome in a pongee silk 
suit and white silk shirt. Lola wore a thin white 
dress, not new, with a rose-pink velvet belt. 

After a good deal of handshaking and preliminary 
talk, Marian poured the shrub and passed the 
cookies. The girls sat down on the rugs, and the 
two older people took the chairs. Mrs. Frear and 
Mr. Spalding were talking about a big pickerel which 
Harvey had just caught, and of the advantages of 
this somewhat isolated lake. 

“ How sweet your mother looks,” whispered Lola 
under cover of the talk. 

“ Doesn’t she? I never realized it before,” 
Marian returned; “ that is, I’ve been so selfish that 
I’ve never really looked at her, I guess.” 

“ Father has a surprise for you and your mother,” 
Lola whispered again, after finishing a glass of shrub. 

Marian turned a questioning face toward her 


A Surprise Party 233 

friend. “A surprise?” she murmured. “ What 
is it? ” 

“ If I told, it wouldn’t be one,” Lola answered, 
with mischief in her eyes. She was pulling softly at 
Rosy-Nosey’s white ears, 

“ Oh, Lola ! ” Marian was reproachful. 

“ Listen. You’ll hear soon enough. He’s 
twiddling his watch-chain, and that’s a sign that he’s 
fussed and doesn’t know how to begin.” 

“ Yes, Mrs. Frear,” Lola’s father was saying, 
“ this is a delightful place for a summer’s outing. 
The youngsters have enjoyed it hugely. But it’s 
time that they — we — all of us — began to think 
about the fall; school, and all that, you know.” 

Mrs. Frear looked over at Marian. “ I suppose 
so,” she said slowly. “ Marian and I have been 
rather dreading the time when we should have to 
say good-bye to our new friends.” 

Mr. Spalding gave her a genial look. “ But you 
don’t have to,” he responded. 

Mrs. Frear showed her perplexity. “ Surely they 
aren’t going to stay on here?” she said. “They 
ought to begin their school on time, oughtn’t they? ” 
She glanced from Lola’s excited face to the father’s 
more non-committal countenance. 

“ Not a doubt of it. They have to be on time for 
their work.” 

“ Then what — ? ” 

“ Mrs. Frear, I have a plan to suggest to you 
Mr. Spalding spoke gravely. “ If you don’t like it, 
— well, I’ll be sorry. But I hope you will.” 

“What is it?” The lady looked almost 
alarmed. 


234 Marian Fr ear's Summer 

“ You know I have these three youngsters on my 
hands,” the man began, with a humorous glance at 
Lola; “ my sister has been tremendously kind to look 
after them for a number of years — giving up all her 
own affairs in life. I’ve been talking with her, and 
with Harvey and the girls. They thought I might 
ask you if you would come to our house, and super- 
vise it — and bring your daughter along.” 

“ Oh ! ” Marian gripped Lola’s hand. 

“ Sh-h!” 

Mr. Spalding was going on. “ You see, I’m away 
so much that there ought to be some one at home — 
a kind of — what shall I call it? ” He looked con- 
fused. " House-keeper doesn’t express it — ” 

“Home-keeper” suggested Mrs. Frear, with her 
earnest eyes on the man’s face. 

“ That’s it.” Mr. Spalding spoke with relief. 
“ A home-keeper — some one to keep the home 
together, and make it right for the young people. 
Marian here, — ” He turned and looked at the two 
girls on the rug — “ could go to the high school with 
my girls. Harvey’s away during the week, but 
usually comes home for Saturday and Sunday. 
You’d have a good maid to do the work. There’ll 
be a bit of a salary — ” 

“ Oh, but if Marian and I should both stay — ” 
broke in Mrs. Frear, anxious to be fair. 

“ Never mind; there’ll be a salary — not a large 
one, you know, but a few dollars. And as far as 
Miss Marian is concerned, I want to be able to do 
something for her now and again. I can’t forget 
what she did for Agnes.” 

Marian found that her heart was beating heavily 


A Surprise Party 235 

with embarrassment and anxiety. “ That wasn’t 
much,” she said hurriedly. “ Almost any one could 
have done it.” 

“ The fact remains that noboby else did,” Mr. 
Spalding returned, still with his eyes on Mrs. Frear. 

Marian looked over at her mother, who sat with 
her hands folded tightly in her lap, above the orange 
silk bag. The woman’s eyes were on the glinting 
blue of the lake, showing through the cherry-trees 
and poplars on the shore. The girl was faintly 
aware of the thoughts that were active in her 
mother’s mind — thoughts of earlier and happier 
years, of the longer, harder years of toil and loneli- 
ness and deprivation, which after all had not failed 
in loving companionship; and of the habit and inertia 
which make it hard to change an environment even 
when opportunity offers. Would her mother go? 
Marian clung to Lola’s hand, and held her own 
thought suspended in the one desire to hear the word 
which would decide her course in life. 

Mrs. Frear had turned to Mr. Spalding. Warm 
color suffused her cheeks. “ Yes, I think I should be 
glad to do as you suggest,” she said in her clear 
decisive way. Marian drew a long breath. “ It’s 
a wonderful opportunity for Marian,” Mrs. Frear 
went on, “ and I can’t deprive her of it. But — ” 

“ I hope you really want to go, for yourself,” Mr. 
Spalding reminded her with gentleness. 

“ In a way, I do,” was the reply. “ But,” Mrs. 
Frear repeated, twisting her fingers into the strings 
of the work-bag, “ do you think I can do what you 
require? I’ve lived out here in the country for 
twelve years; I’m behind the times, and used to my 


236 Marian Frear's Summer 

own ways. Perhaps I couldn’t make your young 
people happy — ” 

“ Ha ! ” Lola broke in, “ you don’t need to 
worry about the young folks, Mrs. Frear. They 
know whether you could make them happy or not.” 

“ We’ll risk that,” added Mr. Spalding. 

“ If you’re willing to risk it, I might try becoming 
the home-keeper at your house,” Mrs. Frear 
responded. She was serious and dignified, not yet 
recovered from her surprise and uncertainty. “ I 
love a house, and I love young people, so that you 
may be sure I shall be happy in looking after them.” 

a I have no doubt at all that you will do it well,” 
Mr. Spalding assured her, speaking with relief. 

Lola could contain her delight no longer. She 
rose and dragged Marian to her feet, and began 
whirling the bewildered girl around in a wild dance 
upon the grass. “ Oh, you’re coming to live at our 
house, at our house, tra-la-la ! ” she chanted, pulling 
Marian this way and that. 

Marian came to a standstill at last, breathless and 
disheveled. “ Oh, Lola, you’ve twisted me all to 
pieces!” she cried. “But isn’t it wonderful? I 
can hardly believe it. It surely is a surprise ! ” 

“Hadn’t you thought about it at all?” asked 
Lola, while the older people were discussing the 
details of the new plan. 

“Thought of it? Why should I? It never 
entered my mind,” answered Marian blankly. 

“ Harvey and I had spoken of it two or three 
times — especially since we had the quarrel, and your 
mother helped him to make up. And Auntie had 
hinted at it, too. The other day, when you were 


A Surprise Party 237 

telling me about going to Willford to school, I could 
hardly keep from saying something, but I didn’t 
dare, before we’d talked it over with father.” 

“ I wondered why you seemed so uninterested in 
my going to Willford,” Marian admitted. “ But I 
thought maybe I’d bored you with my affairs.” 

“ What an idea!” Lola reproached her friend. 
“ Now you know what I was thinking.” 

“ It was a wonderful thought,” Marian sighed. 
“Things are queer, aren’t they? I thought a few 
weeks ago that I was doomed to stay here forever, 
and now all at once the door is open and I can fly 
out! ” 

Lola’s face was illumined. “ That reminds 
me,” she said in a low voice, “ of what I was reading 
in the Bible the other day, — Auntie always has us 
read on Sunday morning, when we aren’t where we 
can go to church. It was this, ' Behold I have set 
before thee an open door f and no man can shut it! ” 

“ That means me, I guess,” said Marian, startled. 
She was silent, catching up her loosened hair, and 
thinking of the prospects which had suddenly been 
revealed to her. 

“ Well, if there is anything more to talk over, we 
can do it before I go,” Mr. Spalding was saying. 
He rose and looked about for Lola. Mrs. Frear 
rose, too, with a word of appreciation for his kind- 
ness. 

The four people walked slowly down through the 
garden and the meadow, to the landing-place. The 
Paloma was tied to the bass-wood tree, and Harvey 
was sitting in the boat, reading. He closed his book 
with a snap, and eagerly searched the faces which 


238 Marian Fr ear’s Summer 

appeared under the branches. “ Is it all right? ” he 
asked. “ I believe it is, from the way you look.” 

“ Yes, Harve, it’s all right,” Lola assured him 
joyously. “ Mrs. Frear says she’ll come.” 

“ Good for Mrs. Frear ! ” The boy’s eyes sought 
those of the “ home-keeper ” with real satisfaction. 
And then they gave Marian a glance of understand- 
ing. The girl realized that he knew how much this 
chance for study and development might mean to her. 

Mr. Spalding and Lola settled themselves in the 
boat, and the party prepared to row away. “ This 
has been a prosperous voyage,” remarked the older 
man, raising his hat to the two women on shore. “ I 
think we have discovered El Dorado.” 

“ I hope that you haven’t made any mistake,” 
Mrs. Frear called after him. She was still a bit 
troubled over the suddenness of her own decision. 

“ No fear! ” The boat was gliding out into the 
blue waters, and Lola was waving her hand. 
Harvey, at the oars, made a quick gesture of fare- 
well. 

Mrs. Frear and Marian stood watching the boat 
as it receded from the shore. Neither said a word. 
Marian had her hand on her mother’s arm, and she 
gave it one quick pressure. Still silent, the mother 
and daughter turned and made their way up the path 
to the meadow. At the edge of the fringe of trees, 
they stopped with one accord, and gazed at the house 
beyond the garden. 

“ After all, we do love our little place, don’t we, 
dear? ” said Mrs. Frear at last. 

“ It will be dreadfully hard to give it up.” 
Marian was already feeling the twinge of parting. 


A Surprise Party 239 

“ I love the house and the garden and the lake,” 
Mrs. Frear responded thoughtfully. “And I love 
the soil; I never realized how much.” 

“ It’s strange, but I do, too,” Marian echoed, shar- 
ing her mother’s emotion. 

“ But now that our chance has come, we must 
make the most of it. It will mean so much to us 
both ! Oh, Marian, you’d get a start, and after that, 
there will be some other way — ” 

“ I’ll never give up hope again,” murmured the 
girl contritely. 

“O ye of little faith!” exclaimed Mrs. Frear 
under her breath. “ Marian, child, the task before 
us isn’t easy — living in another person’s house, and 
adapting ourselves to new conditions, keeping our 
independence, and yet not holding ourselves aloof: 
it will take all the patience and good sense that we 
can muster.” 

“ You’re equal to it, Wonderful Lady.” Marian 
put her arms around her mother, and kissed the pink 
cheek beside her own. “ I know it will be a struggle 
for me — but I’m happy just the same. Aren’t 
you? ” 

“ I truly am.” The mother’s voice was grateful 
and full of eagerness. 

Arm in arm they walked through the meadow to 
the little house. From out upon the lake came the 
sound of laughter, and then, as if very far away, 
Harvey’s voice singing 

“ Shine on, shine on, O Jerusalem! ” 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 




/ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


»:;;j; 24 u 


V:\ 


U 

.* 1 

w 



;i 

: i 

* r 0 


• • 

If) 
• * • 





t* '.J 



• ' • 








H J:?:i 

( • 4 « • 

• * • • 

s 

:ny/J 




•! 

:<l 

ill! 

* » 

• ] V 

■ M 

• 4 

«*:< 

a-i 


• * • 

: :ii 



















































